Nymph Hugs
by Yuni30
Summary: A small fanfiction full of one-shots (usually) that mostly feature our favorite thief's softer, more vulnerable side. Warning: may contain spoilers about later events in the game. Read at your own discretion. Constructive critiques are welcome.
1. Nymph Hugs

Authors Note:

 **Heyo! It's Yuni! Been a bit since I last updated or posted anything on the site. (Sorry those of you who read Greedy Souls, I haven't gotten back to it… I feel like if I continue I would write myself into a corner and ruin the fic. Hehe.)**

 **I decided to write about Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch. I decided to write about Swaine. I like Swaine. I felt bad for him when I ran into him in game. I played blindly so his introduction in the game came quite surprisingly.**

 **I wondered what he did in the days he "wondered off" after the events involving Vileheart. Oh yes, there are slight spoilers. Forgot to mention.**

 **This is actually inspired by Wherever Girl's "Like a Brother" fic.**

 **Leave feedback. If you don't like something, be sure to leave constructive criticism. I apologize in advance for any OOC-ness- especially anything to do with Swaine as he's the hardest to nail down, characterwise. People who use this as an excuse to insult and harass _will_ be reported. **

**Anywho. Here's the fic.**

 **Disclaimer: I only own a copy of the disk for the PS3.**

~.~.~

He couldn't describe the despair he felt. He couldn't explain why he felt it either. It reminded him of when the three had gone to the past- the scene he had not experienced as a child. The scene that completely blindsided him and sent him into an abyss of grief for the next week after. Difference was, he knew deep down that there was at least a chance his friend could come back.

It wasn't much to go on…

In the boy's current comatose state, he might as well be dead. And if he didn't wake up soon…

The thief slammed his palm into the nearby hill, bracing himself against it as this grim realization hit him. Normally, there would be some sort of remedy to wake him… The rugged man opened his tired eyes, a hint of a smile of that small hopeful thought.

But they had tried everything. Reminding himself of this, his smile sank again, right along with his heart. It's not like the boy was "broken-hearted"… But then again, what would happen if more than one piece was missing? Who would repair him? How would they know what part to fix in his condition? The man clenched his fist, his gunslinging hand grabbing a fist full of grass, pulling a couple of blades out of the mountainside.

 _Maybe my brother…? Could he help him?_ The thief thought, his hands beginning to tremble from the sheer stress of it all. _Damn it all… Outside the fairy, I'm responsible for those two. I_ should _be able to do something! Anything! Anything to help…_ He pushed himself away from the hill, but not far. He looked out to the valley that gave Autumnia its name.

He had come out here to think. In times of major stress such as this, he found it better to be alone. The thief was sure Esther had already called him out on his disappearance to the loudmouth fairy. She probably thought he didn't care- an all too wrong assumption. The ex-prince cared more than he let on. The truth is, being around the young wizard in his current state did nothing but remind him of his failure, which only stressed him more. That's why he was away from the inn. Swaine knew if he stuck around, tension would build, and his emotions would get the best of him. He tended to get rather stubborn and irrational in that state, which didn't help anyone.

There were many times where the thief was the last one standing. There wasn't enough time during _those_ types of fights to revive the other two. When the time came, the least heroic of the group was the one that pulled them through. He let a small chuckle escape him, thinking on it. The scrappy Dumbelemur turned Aye-Aye Sir, Vemahl, put up a good fight most of the time. To Swaine's chagrin, Oliver wanted to try something different with his team of familiars, putting Gunther into the retreat for safe keeping. Thinking more about it, he realized part of the reason he lasted so long in battle may have partially been because of Gemini, the Greater Naiad, and her well-timed evasion.

This was a different case altogether, though. This wasn't a fight against wild creatures. This wasn't the case of fighting on behalf of his friends. The pure-hearted one was in a state where even the distilled tears of a phoenix could wake him. The thief thought of asking his brother, but he had a feeling that he couldn't help and leaving to ask him would mean leaving alone, the Al Mamoon girl and Drippy looking after Oliver.

He knew that wasn't a good idea. He had a gut feeling that his younger brother wouldn't be able to help- having lived on the run as a common criminal helped develop a strong trust in his instincts.

He couldn't do anything, he realized. He couldn't return the favor when the time came. He couldn't help the boy that had saved him from a perilous life. He felt his strength leave him, his helplessness in the situation weighing him down. Feeling defeated, he sat down, leaning his back against the offended hill. He looked to the sky, a hand on one knee the other on the ground beside him.

A tear ran down the left side of his face- an action that shocked him. He hadn't cried since that night in Hamelin. He wiped the tear from his face, with the hand that was on the ground and stared at it. He closed his eyes, his body trembling. He felt alone.

There was a tug on his jacket sleeve. He opened his eyes and looked down to see the Greater Naiad in his regime of familiars. She didn't have her usual smile on her face, in fact, she looked rather concerned.

He sniffled. "Wh- What do you want," he whispered, his voice shaking. He didn't remember calling her to action nor did he feel her come out. He must have been pretty distracted.

She let the casting gem she held disappear into her and moved closer to him. The little sea nymph gripped his shirt in an attempt at a hug. Gemini's fluffy bauble gently rubbed his chin as she nuzzled his chest. Her cape and tendrils spread to compensate for her small size.

Swaine opened his mouth in shock, looking down at her attempt in comforting him. Nymphea wasn't a particular favorite genus of his, he recalled, but he also remembered using this particular nymph often in battle. He had unintentionally built a strong bond with her.

It reminded him of his brother, almost. There were times when they were kids that Marcassin would comfort him when he was troubled. _Kind of like this, actually_ , the ex-thief thought.

He felt his shirt dampen suddenly, causing him to look down. Gemini was crying for him, attempting to use a healing ability she had long since abandoned. Despite how odd it felt, he felt some of his frustration leave him. He didn't know if it was because of the ability- it shouldn't have worked considering that he wasn't wounded- or because he had something comforting in a such a trying time.

"You're right…," he muttered, petting the familiar. "There's nothing I can do." He was still frustrated and confused, but less of a mess. He stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes and took a second to look back out at the valley. His spirits were low still, but the worst of the emotional turmoil was over. _Going back there won't snap him out of it…_ He looked back at the still concerned Greater Naiad. _But crying over something I can't help? Ha! What good will that do?_

He threw a sad smirk Gemini's way and her smile quickly returned, her gem reappearing in her small stubby arms. "Thank you. Needed some relief, I did." He knelt down, stroking the feathery bauble on the nymph's cap. The nymph nodded and returned to his heart, a warm feeling washing over him briefly.

He sighed and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. He still felt useless, he still felt frustrated. He still felt despair. But he had regained the strength of heart he had recently lost. "Familiars are still creatures with separate feelings from our own. Why do I forget that so easily?"

~.~.~

 **A/N: Before most of your familiars become your familiars, they are considered beasts. They have feelings, personalities, and histories before they join your team, much like the human members of your party. There's a cave outside of Nazcaa that proves this because there's a bunch of "friendly" beasts that you can go on unofficial quests for, including one of my favorite species line: the naiads. When you consider the way they act in the creature cage, even as familiars, they're still partially separate when it comes to personality and mindset.**

 **Yeah. I switched out Swaine's main one with the lemur. I was experimenting with his set up. He really likes using the nymph, though. It's weird since Gem's not in his "favorite" genus group… I tend to ignore the whole favorite type thing in the game sometimes, though I probably shouldn't. Greater Naiad's are evasive healer types with light magic attacks. I noticed that when I removed Gemini from his team, he seemed to faint more, so it makes me wonder if the ally AI selects the most strategically sound familiar at the time. (In the winter islands, Esther busted out Soliton, the Grandsun, because he had fire affinity.) Most of the time evading and healing is pretty sound strategy and it would explain why sometimes he's the last up to bat.**

 **Outside game mechanics, considering how much he uses Gemini in my version of the game, I always wondered if there's some sort of familiarity between him and the jellyfish. Maybe it reminds him of his brother.**

 **And yes… I do assign genders to my familiars. And now that I really think about it, outside of the undetermined gender of a few, most of my mains are male. I don't know how that happened.**

 **This is a long author's note… Might write another fanfic inspired by a movie I watched recently. Considering how the thief closes himself off, it makes me wonder if there are talents he neglected to mention outright. *Hint, hint***

 **Anyway. I'm done writing half a page for one lousy author's note. No doubt you've clicked on another story by now. (Might make this a drabble fic named after the first chapter… Watch out.) You're probably bored of me talking.** Bye.


	2. Secret Talent

**Author's Note:**

 **I took some liberties with Swaine's backstory here. Especially what led him to start thieving in general. The high and mighty attitude of Gascon kind of clashed with how corrupt Swaine was when we first meet him. I mean, yeah, he had a broken heart, but something had to happen to make Gascon resort to a life of crime. While, yes, it could be entirely Shadar's doing that caused such a shift, I doubt that. He built a freaking gun to steal things. Say that didn't work right the first couple of tries- you'd have to have no restraint to just throw in the towel on the project. I'm thinking our buddy Swaine, there caught the Cowlipha's lack of restraint.**

 **As usual, expect spoilers.**

 **Please, leave a review. I'd very much appreciate it. Keep it civil if you do submit one.**

 **Disclaimer: I love this game. I bought the disk for it at a video game store. Had all the packaging and everything. Hey, these fics are free advertising and not in any way changing the actual content of the game. Why would I own the rights to it, again?**

~.~.~

They had stopped off at Al Mamoon to buy some supplies. Occasionally, they'd split up, each with a share of the funds for their own personal needs. This was one of those times.

Oliver had just finished talking to the curry merchant, telling tales of their journey and buying a healthy stock of curry for the road. He bid his cooking shopkeeper friend farewell and walked off. He was about to head off to the inn when a sound he hadn't heard in the plaza wafted his way.

It sounded like a string instrument being played behind the opposite milk fountain. A man was singing along with the tune. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

The young wizard, intrigued, approached the fountain carefully, stopping to listen before he turned the corner. The tune reminded him of a sea shanty, or at least that's what he heard what sailors sang:

" _From the land of machines, I must go,_

 _To taste cool milk so sweet,_

 _The feeling of soft grass, I should know,_

 _To bask in that Summerland heat!_

 _From the confines of many a steel spire:_

 _Running free in the wild,_

 _Castaway Cove is where I'll retire._

 _Life will be carefree-"_

"Swaine," a bewildered shout interrupted, the rhythm broken, the tune halted. An off-key note played in shock. There were a few curious onlookers, clearly not yet fully invested in the tune, leaving the scene.

Swaine sat, leaning against the milk fountain on the ground holding what looked like a lute with a golden wooden finish that faded into a chestnut brown at the edges where what looked like ancient golden creatures formed the border. He looked surprised to see him, an almost guilty look plastered on his face. It wasn't like he hadn't bought his share of what they needed- the rugged sack he used to carry supplies was sitting next to him.

"You can sing…," Oliver began, still shocked at this discovery. "…and play guitar?"

"Oh, I..." The ex-thief put the instrument down. "I was just holding onto it for someone," he fibbed. Truth was, he didn't become a thief without having secret areas in Al Mamoon and Castaway Cove to hide his ill-gotten gain- through the instrument was anything but stolen.

The boy wasn't buying it. He had his hands on his hips, looking down at his older friend and a suspicious expression. "Uh-huh," Oliver said disbelievingly, a cheeky smile on his face. "So, where'd you get it?"

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking," the guilty man snapped, glaring at the young wizard. Swaine held the instrument closer to his person, gripping the neck and body of it.

The thief's young friend stepped back suddenly, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Of course not. But… Did someone really give it to you to hold?" Oliver's curiosity was getting the best of him. To the man in question, it appeared he wouldn't let it go.

Sighing and relaxing his body a bit, he gave in. He seemed to halfheartedly shake his head, eventually looking back at the wizard. "Okay, fine…," he reluctantly groaned. "First of all, it's called a mandolin. It's one of the few things I took with me when I left Hamelin…" He didn't want to admit it, but he had snuck it in Oliver's bag as Gascon for safe keeping when they went to find Mornstar; and, as a prince, he intended to leave with it, hoping the instrument would give him some solace in his fight for survival.

"Neato," the wizard shouted eagerly. "Did you use to play it before you left?"

Swaine's annoyed expression slightly shifted to confusion. Was the boy really that interested in his secret musical talent? He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He then turned his head to look at the far wall of the courtyard, thinking about his next response.

"I… Used to play a little." A sad look graced the thief's face, missing days long gone. "Marcassin loved hearing me play when we took breaks from practice," he admitted. A sad chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head.

Oliver seemed lost in thought, his hand on his chin. "You could have played for money or food instead of stealing," the boy suggested, though there wasn't much use to it.

Swaine scoffed, catching himself absentmindedly stroking the strings of the mandolin. "Don't think I didn't try that, do you?" He looked incredulously at his young friend. "It worked the first few months. People gave me babanas, a few bottles of milk, some sandwiches, and even a few guilders. I thought I could make it like that…" He trailed off.

"The news came of my father's death." He frowned, holding the instrument closer to his body again, this time for comfort. "I didn't know what to make of it. My music faltered that day and the day after that. Eventually, I was out of food and money. That's when I decided to steal for the first time." A few stray notes pierced the air as Swaine picked at the instrument. "The Pickpocket's Pistol was created for that first heist," he mumbled, almost to himself.

Oliver, still listening to his older friend, was beside himself. Because of how the thief reacted, the wizard was sure that he hadn't really admitted any of this to anyone else. He felt sorry for his friend and how he had to thieve to survive despite being so talented. The boy noticed how hard Swaine was clutching the mandolin, how he almost seemed to be hugging the instrument- almost as if he were scared it would disappear.

It was like how he used to hold onto Drippy as a doll, he realized. "Was it a gift from your father," Oliver mustered up the courage to ask. When he didn't receive an answer, he simply sat down next to the man, looking up at him.

The thief finally nodded in response to Oliver's question. The mandolin was a gift from the former Emperor of Hamelin, but not from Hamelin itself- a town to the west, atop the valley where Autumnia got its name.

He picked at the instrument, trying to fashion some sort of melody and distractedly hum to himself. The former prince mentally kicked himself for not picking it up from his hiding spot sooner. They had been back to Al Mamoon numerous times, but each time he had been caught up in whatever decision the team was making- usually assuring himself each time that he'd pick it up again. If only his playing didn't falter… if only Shadar hadn't ended his father's life.

"You've got a good melody going there," Oliver complimented, snapping Swaine out of his thoughts and halting his playing once more. "Why'd you stop," the young wizard complained, eager to hear more.

"Hah! Impressed, are you? I wasn't even focusing on playing." He cast a smile down at his young friend and strummed a few chords. "Surprised that fairy and Esther haven't found us yet. They'd have to hear all the off-key racket I'm making," Swaine said, getting up, holding his beloved mandolin in one hand by the neck.

"They probably stopped to talk to Rashaad," Oliver answered. "And what do you mean, 'off-key'? You sounded like a pro," came another compliment from the wizard.

"You can stop trying to cheer me up, Oliver. That wasn't even my best." The older man stomped his foot, looking at the ground. "I'm obviously way out of practice. Couldn't even convince that crowd of onlookers there to give me anything. Then again…" He glanced to the side with a disapproving look. "What did I expect? Who would ever give money to a performing thief?"

The truth was, the young wizard wasn't trying to cheer him up. He really meant it: Swaine was excellent, even if he hadn't played in a while. Looking down at his feet, the young wizard realized that his friend would constantly deny his compliment. "Then you've got to practice," he encouraged. "Then you'll sound even better!"

Swaine shot the boy a glare. "Not a chance." It suddenly dawned on him. "I can't take this with me. Travelling with it would damage it or worse off: it could get stolen." It pained him to say it, but he knew it was true.

"I never leave my bag anywhere! I always have it," Oliver suggested. "You could play when we're taking breaks!"

"Oliver…" The thief looked down at the wizard, frowning once more. He was well aware that Oliver's bag could protect it from harm, but he'd rather not take his chances. While it was true the bottomless pit never strayed far from the group, he worried one night it would disappear. "…thank you, but no. I'll deposit it in a Cat's Cradle safe for safe keeping. I'm lucky the damn thing didn't get stolen in the first place." The thief kicked a small sand pile that had built up.

"Besides, it would distract me more than anything," the thief sighed, carefully placing it in the case propped up on the burlap bag he used to gather supplies, picking the case up, and slinging the strap on his shoulder. He picked up the supplies and started for the inn. Before heading down the street, Swaine paused and looked back at Oliver, who was still sitting against the fountain.

"I need a favor," the thief began. "When we come back here- and I know we will- keep the other two busy for me so I can practice?"

The boy turned his head to acknowledge his friend. "Sure." Oliver nodded, smiling.

Another thing seemed to bother him. "And… Promise to keep this between us, will you? I already get enough grief from Esther and Drippy as it is." He began to walk off.

"You've got it, Swaine," the young wizard agreed, respecting the older man's need for privacy and happy to have helped.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Oi! Guess who saw "Coco"! I was inspired by one of the characters to write this. Spoilers for those who haven't seen it, but Hector reminded me of Swaine: He's rough around the edges, he's tried to play the system to get to someone he cares about, he has creative talent, he has fallen from grace, and has had a pretty bad hand dealt to him. Like Swaine, the moment I saw him I wanted to hug him because… well, he looked like he needed one.**

 **This is partly also based on a theory out there that Swaine, Marcassin, and Oliver might be related, but I didn't make it apparent here.**

 **The song lyrics are actually my own I specifically came up with for this fic. If you're looking for a solid reference on how it would sound, think of a sea shanty or Billy Joel's _Piano Man_ for a close approximation.**


	3. Promises Lost Promises Kept

**Author's Note:**

 **Major spoiler warning. Unless you don't care about me spoiling the twists and turns, complete the Hamelin arc all the way through first. I beg of you.**

 **Hey-oh! I wanted to write about a conundrum I found in the game: Why the heck doesn't younger Marcassin pick up on who Swaine really is? At first, I thought that maybe, just maybe, he couldn't understand what Swaine was saying in the scene where the Emperor dies, but his vocals- at first- are really clear. You can hear him call the Emperor "father" easily, so… why hasn't past Marcassin picked up on it or at least started to theorize? It really bothered me so I did what all fans do when presented with plot holes: write fanfics to fill those holes in with the best substitute content tar we can get.**

 **Heh. Get it? "Content Tar"? Cause a lot of roads are made of asphalt or tar? I should have come up with the names of places in the games… Anywho. On to depressing scenes later resolved with hugging.**

 **Disclaimer: This game is a good game. I thank those who worked on it and gave me something to write about on this site while my inspiration waned on one of my other pieces.**

~.~.~

The jarring sound of mournful sobs filled the palace. The child prince, who had fallen to his knees, turned his head to Esther, burying his head in her arms. While the man he barely knew continued to cry over the Emperor, Marcassin silently sobbed as well, clinging to the girl beside him.

Their thieving friend's cries of anguish soon softened, his voice gone as he choked on his own breath. His shoulders shook as his grief consumed him. While it was true that he had heard of his father's death long before that day, nothing could have prepared him. After all the years of being separated from his father and his brother, he finally had had a second chance to prove himself.

He should have seen it coming, but the truth was, the letter never said how long after he had left.

He thought he had more time- more time to make things right between him and his father; more time to help the younger version of his brother avoid losing his belief; more time to, perhaps, confront Shadar on his father's behalf. All of these regrets rushed to him in his broken state.

Soldiers rushed into the room. "You there," a guard demanded, gesturing to the young wizard and the grieving man. "Away from the Emperor." The guard turned to Esther and Marcassin. "If your business is through-"

"N-no! Let them- let them stay," the young prince ordered shakily, sensing the what the guard was about to demand. He was standing again, albeit shakily, eyes still wet with tears. "They're the only ones who heard my father's last words." He turned to the thief, who was too grief-stricken to pay attention and nodded. "W-we can't just throw them out after this…," he said, stammering again at the sight of his father's corpse, tears rolling again down his face.

The thief saw, from the corner of his tear-blurred vision, Oliver kneel down and put his hand on his shoulder. "It's time to go, Swaine," the young wizard said softly, solemnly. Swaine looked up, his vision still wet with tears, only to be greeted by a handful of guards. Their hands were gripping their spears. They luckily were in the "standby" position, but that could change with a shift of their hand he knew.

The thief nodded, and he stood, briefly. His strength left him and he nearly collapsed, the day and the recent trauma taking its toll. The young wizard caught him and supported his friend by wrapping his arm under the older man's, resting his hand on his back.

The blonde and the child prince stood to the side, letting them pass as the pair slowly made their way out of the chamber. As they left, Swaine caught a glimpse of his brother's younger tear-stained face.

He realized then that he had left his brother all alone as Gascon. He had left him to this tragedy, to the weight of being emperor. He remembered wanting to go home when he heard the news, but there wasn't any way home for him at that time and that he had to trust in his younger brother to take care of the Empire. Even so, the guilt had caused another rush of tears to stream down the usually seemingly unconcerned thief's face.

They made it to one of the guest rooms- the one the thief had insisted on having. He claimed it was for the sake of comfort, but considering what they knew now, it was because it was closest to rooms of the royal family. He could easily monitor Gascon and gauge the next event based on his memory. At least, that's what the young wizard theorized.

Swaine let go of Oliver and stumbled to the luxurious guest bed, sitting on the edge of it. He only looked down for a while, not saying a word. After what felt like hours, he finally shuffled off his buckled brown shoes and laid down on the bed, rolling over to shield himself from the light of the hall, forgetting his wizard friend was there.

"…Do you need anything? Water," Oliver asked, concerned about his companion.

"I need you to leave. Just leave me alone, Oliver," he snapped quietly, his voice still hoarse from earlier.

Oliver nodded, understanding his friend's plight. He walked out, only closing the door part way. He leaned into the gap just enough to let him know to send for him if he needed something and that he was leaving the door gapped for that express purpose.

Swaine couldn't have cared less what the boy did. He just wanted to rest in solitude. Perhaps he'd feel better the next day.

~.~.~

He didn't know it was possible, but he felt worse. He caught word from the guards that they had taken the Emperor's remains to the family mausoleum. Swaine had lived fatherless for years but being there at the side of his deathbed had opened his eyes. It had never really hit him until now that he would never be able to see his father again.

He sat on the edge of his bed all morning. The thief was worried about his brother, how he would cope for all of those years without him- this time's version of him. He knew the letter telling of his father's death wouldn't reach him until months after that day. He was probably already in Castaway Cove by now, trying to figure out how to live on his own.

"H-hello…," a soft, shaky voice called from his door.

He looked up to see young Marcassin, tears once again rolling down his cheeks. Swaine put on a brave face, despite his own grief. "M-Marcassin." He cleared his throat, getting whatever had built up since yesterday out. "What is it," he asked, concerned for the child's emotional state. His instincts as the younger prince's older brother hadn't waned much, even after fifteen years.

The child took this as an invitation to come in, sitting on the edge of the bed in the small room. He took the sleeve of the thief's disheveled tattered green coat with one hand, a tear streaking down his face.

"Swaine," he began, whispering. "I'm scared. I don't know what to do without father."

On closer inspection, the thief noticed bags under Marcassin's already puffy eyes. "You couldn't sleep, could you? This must have been bothering you all night."

The young prince nodded, biting his lower lip. He turned suddenly and embraced Swaine, crying into his sleeve. "I miss Gascon. Why isn't he here? He said he'd be here whenever I need him no matter how far away," he cried out, gripping the surprised thief's shirt.

Swaine was speechless for a moment. He wasn't entirely sure how to approach this. Without really thinking about it, he rubbed the child's back in a comforting motion. "Hey, now. Keep your chin up. He'll stay true to his word," the thief said softly, placing his hand gently on the back of his younger brother's head.

"But…" Marcassin sniffled. "He promised." It was at this point Swaine realized his brother hadn't quite understood. Then again, how could he? He was still a small child.

"I think…," he began, shifting so he could look his brother in the eye. "I think he meant that he'd always be thinking of you." The thief gripped the back of his messy brown hair in thought, unsure of how to explain his promise from fifteen years back. "It's hard to explain, Marcassin."

"He said that 'whenever I need him he'd come back'," the young prince whimpered, wiping tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his royal robes. "Surely, he's heard of… of what happened to father." The prince began to cry again, this time not pressing into the man next to him.

Swaine sighed a forlorn sigh. "Oh, Marcassin," he whispered, looking down at the pig nose decorated rug on the metal floor. He wanted to tell him who he really was. He hadn't put the pieces together. Perhaps with all that had happened, it hadn't dawned on the young prince. The thief understood- the entire ordeal was a lot to process for a child his age. It was probably for the best he didn't say.

Deciding that his brother would figure it out when they returned to their time, he pulled the distraught Marcassin into a gentle hug. Swaine felt the younger form of his brother go rigid in shock. "You can relax. It's alright," he soothed, setting his own grief aside for his brother.

The warmth of the thief reminded the child of his older sibling. Yes, their father would sometimes comfort him when he was alive, but his brother, despite his attitude, would always be there for him in his father's absence. Whenever he ran to him frantically in tears because of an issue- whether it be something he messed up or a spell he couldn't handle, Gascon would comfort him just like this.

Marcassin gripped Swaine's shirt, sobbing quietly into it. Eventually, the sobs subsided, leaving sniffling in their wake. The two sat there for a while in silence, neither aware of how long.

During this time of silence, the thief thought hard about the day he left and the promise he had made. He had left something more than just an oath, he recalled. He was still exhausted from the day before. He closed his eyes, gently resting his head on his little brother's. It hit him then- his old sword.

Eventually, the young prince pulled away, grateful for the man's empathy. "W-will he come back soon," the child asked, still slightly shaking.

The thief smiled sadly at the prince. "He will be back. I can promise you that. It's just…" He shifted uncomfortably. "It'll be a good while before so. He'll look different, but he'll still be your loving brother all the same."

The boy looked down. "Then what do I do, Swaine?" His voice was full of desperation. "I know I'll have tutors and guides to help run the Empire, but I won't have any friends…" He paused, realizing that his brother _was_ his only friend. He had no mother to help guide him. "…or family to turn to."

Marcassin felt a strong hand pat his shoulder "Be strong: as your father would want you to be. It won't be easy, I'm sure, but you'll get through it all somehow," he heard Swaine encourage. "You've still got that sword he gave you, yeah?"

The kid looked up and nodded. He saw the man smirk. "That's what he meant. You'll always have a part of him with you, protecting you from harm no matter when and where. After all, it's the Hamelin way to go it on your own, isn't it?" Marcassin nodded again, reminded of what his father had said to his brother. "You'll make them both proud. I know it."

A genuine confident smile graced his young face and the child ruler nodded affirmatively once more. He paused, the smile slightly fading. He was studying the man's face.

The thief, having been a common criminal, quickly assumed he was looking for any sign of dishonesty- he was being completely sincere with his brother. He was suddenly tackled with a hug from the child, a grunt escaping him.

"Th-thank you…" The prince felt like his prayers had been answered. He wasn't quite certain, but he felt a familial connection to the man he sought comfort from. Perhaps he _was_ his older brother from the future- he didn't know. Either way, he was happy to hear such encouragement from one so close to his father.

The prince let go and got up, heading to the door. He turned back to look at Swaine. "I'll do my best for the Empire. I'll make Gascon and father proud like you said. I won't let Shadar hurt anyone else!"

"There you go!" The thief was rewarded with a lighthearted chuckle and the prince ran out.

He looked at the ceiling. Helping his brother become stronger in these harrowing times had helped him grieve in a way. He fell back onto the bed, his back against the mattress, smirking cockily. "Sometimes, father, it takes a team effort to become stronger. That's what you meant, wasn't it- those final words? Heh. Don't you worry, old man. Hamelin's in good hands." He put a sleeved arm over his eyes, his smirk becoming a small content smile, happy to have helped his brother- happy to have stayed true to his word.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Did I mention I was inspired by** _ **Coco**_ **? I remember in the last drabble I did. The inspiration's in this drabble, too… The song "Remember Me" heavily inspired me to write it. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go watch the movie. Please. I refuse to write fanfiction for it because I don't possibly know how I could even approach such loveliness. I think a lot of these will be fueled by that movie. Why? I don't know… something about it makes me want to write sad to eventually happy fluff fics about Swaine.**

 **Shout out to Wherever Girl. This part was partially inspired by her fic, "Like a Brother". Thank you for being awesome, WG! Sorry, I don't read more of your stuff. ^^;**

 **Next Drabble? How about something mostly happy. Swaine needs to be happy with how many depressing things I've thrown his way in this series.**

 **Any way. Please write a review, I'd like to know what you all think. If you have any requests, let me know. If you want regular updates, don't forget to follow the fanfic down below.**


	4. A Thief's Tune

**Authors Note:**

 **I'm going to make this short cause I wrote a very long drabble this time. I was trying to make a light-hearted one because the last few felt rather depressing. Also, Swaine needs to have fun every once in a while. This is kind of a sequel to the second chapter, only fewer lyrics and more interaction between people while music, if any, is being performed.**

 **Anywho. On with the show!**

 **Disclaimer: I meant it when I said I'd make it short. I mean it when I say I don't own the rights to this game. It's fun to write about though.**

~.~.~

Supplies were needed before they could continue their assault on the Ivory Tower. It had taken them a day to get through half of it, but their provisions had begun to dwindle. They thought it best to leave and come back when they had stockpiled plenty of health potions, food, coffee, and water.

Granted, what did they expect when there were six of them now? The young wizard, Oliver, had cast vacate and they rode Tengri, their dragon friend, down to Al Mamoon. Curry was always a fan favorite of theirs, especially to one of the newest members of their force who- despite the lack of black truffles- claimed he could eat it all day if he wanted to. Pea was no exception, she found the curry as equally pleasing as the prince did.

That member, Marcassin, was also the same one that insisted on staying at an inn this time. While he didn't openly complain, he felt that the Iron Wyvern's deck wasn't exactly comfortable. Once all the room arrangements were squared away, he, Esther, Pea, and Drippy went out for supplies leaving Swaine and Oliver to unpack anything they needed for the night.

At least, that's what the thief wanted them to believe. See, he and Oliver had an… arrangement. It was one they had made earlier in their journey. He harbored a secret he didn't want the girl or the fairy to know or he'd never hear the end of it.

That wasn't the only issue, though: he didn't have the money to pay for the safety deposit box at the inn for keeping his precious instrument. He had waited for the innkeeper to leave or be distracted by something, keeping his Highwayman's Handgun at the ready. He peered around the corner, eyeing the safe.

"What are you doing," came a sudden, curious question from an all too familiar source. The thief jumped and turned around to see the young wizard.

"I… ah…," he tried to find a good line for this situation, but his silver tongue was tarnished by context. His slouch worsened as his head drooped. He put his weapon in its custom-made holster on his belt. "I don't have the money. I wanted to practice using my instrument," he admitted, making a jabbing motion with his thumb back at the front desk.

"Your guitar," the boy asked, putting his hand on his chin, thinking about the situation.

"'Mandolin'," Swaine corrected, his head still low, guilt evident in his voice.

Oliver's eyes grew wide in shock. "So, you were trying to steal it back?" He received a shameful nod from his friend.

"You could have just asked," the wizard reminded him. The man raised his head, his posture straightening a little, a grateful look on his face.

"Thank you," he responded happily. His smile faded slightly. "…And sorry- about what I was about to do. Wasn't very honest of me."

"It's alright," the boy chuckled. He went around Swaine to talk to the innkeeper. She nodded as she listened to him, accepting his cash, and taking the instrument's case out of the safe. Oliver returned holding the large wooden case awkwardly.

The thief held his hands out to take the cumbersome object off his young friend's hands. The kid wouldn't hand it over, even if he was struggling to hold onto it. "Hold on, what's the catch? Oliver, give me my mandolin." He tapped his foot impatiently, crossing his arms.

"First… oof…" He had to adjust how he was holding the case. "You have to promise you'll never go back to stealing from people ever again- only beasts," the ginger-headed wizard demanded, peering over the side of the mandolin case.

Swaine sighed and rolled his eyes, reluctantly. "I promise- wait, you _are_ aware I haven't pinched anything off anyone in a while, right? I haven't since you cured my lack of restraint!" He let his arms drop and pointed accusingly at the boy as he said this, eager to get his hands on his prized instrument once more.

Oliver looked down in thought, readjusting his grip on the case again. "Huh… But still… I want you to promise, Swaine. Never again." The kid nodded adamantly, despite clinging to a large object. "The world will be better for it."

The thief finally gave in and promised, a confident smile on his face. He held out his arms expectantly.

"Do you swear on it," the boy asked, eyeing the thief cautiously.

He threw up his hands irritably. "For the love of- Yes! I swear on my great-great grandfather's grave that I'll never- _ever_ \- steal from a single human or human-like soul again!" He made grand gestures and stomped his feet in frustration. "Now hand over Lucy or-!" He stopped dead in his tracks, realizing his vocal blunder. He glowered at the young wizard when he heard a snicker.

He snatched the case out of the giggling boy's arms. "Tell anyone, and my ancestors won't be the only thing I'll be swearing on," he threatened, still scowling at Oliver.

Oliver finally stopped, but still beamed at his thieving friend. "I won't. But still… 'Lucy'?"

By this time, Swaine was rushing to open the case that now lay on the floor, pulling out Lucy, the mandolin, ignoring the question- after all, it was just a silly name he came up with as a kid. He strummed a few chords, beginning to put together a tune when a thought occurred to him. He slid the strap hoisting his instrument off his person, grabbing the neck. He handed the instrument to the young boy he'd grown close to over the course of their journey.

Oliver stepped back in surprise. "Huh?" He looked up to his friend. He shook his head, not wanting to take the instrument. "I can't. What if I break it?"

Swaine smirked and pushed the instrument into the kid's hands. "Not if you learn how, kid." He had his young friend loop the strap over himself and showed him how to hold the instrument. "A little more like this," the thief said, gently adjusting Oliver's arms.

"Okay, but I've never played it before. What do I do," the boy asked, his fingers rubbing the copper metal wires- wires he theorized the thief had put in to replace the ones originally from Perdida. He remembered seeing his friend play a little, but it was idle fidgeting for the most part.

Swaine rolled his eyes. "Hey, just because I play it, doesn't mean I know everything about what notes go where." He gestured to the mandolin, a smile on the corner of his mouth. "Just start playing. A melody will come to you."

"But… you use to play as a ki-."

The thief sighed, cutting him off, and looking away. "I was never taught. It wasn't like I had a choice. Marcassin needed help with magic and that took priority over learning all the minutia of music, alright?" He looked down at the mandolin, a regretful look in his eye. "I learned by playing what I heard…" Swaine shook his head, pushing away useless hindsight, refocusing back on giving his friend a chance to play his beloved instrument.

He patted Oliver on the shoulder, a reassuring smile on his face. "Now let's hear what the mighty 'Pure-Hearted' One's got, eh?"

Oliver attempted to play, but the tune seemed a bit off-key. He cringed and so did Swaine, causing the wizard to chuckle at the face the thief made at every jarring note.

"Fine. I can't give you the exact notes, but I can teach you what to look for in sound," the man admitted, having covered his ears at this point. The next few minutes involved Swaine humming and Oliver repeating what he heard on Lucy.

Eventually, Oliver found himself, without his friend's guidance, putting together a decent melody.

"Decent sound you've got there," the former prince complimented. The wizard nodded. An idea struck him, and his normally ever tired eyes widened followed by an incorrigible grin. He had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, listening, but now he half leaped to his feet, standing in front of Oliver. "Hey, how about we give this old inn a performance! You could play Lucy and I'll provide the beat," Swaine proposed enthusiastically.

Oliver flinched. "I only just started learning how to play," he argued nervously.

"And you've never faced against a several-thousand-year-old witch with the power to end the world, yet here we are," the man reminded him.

The wizard nodded, knowing he wasn't wrong there. He agreed and pulled the journal he had been using to keep track of missions and events, handing it to Swaine to use as a make-shift percussion instrument. The man rushed ahead of him into the lobby, pausing to look back.

"Got cold feet, do you," he goaded, jokingly.

Oliver shook his head. "No, it's just that… I've never performed before."

Swaine walked back and grabbed the kid by the arm, pulling him into the lobby. "C'mon. It's not like you're going to be alone. No running. Give it your all," the suddenly energetic thief encouraged.

The boy nodded and began playing the melody he had started before. Before long, the two were singing a song about the highlights of the group's travels, keeping it concise but catchy. Oliver realized the song was like a show-tune from professional plays put on in Motorville his mom used to take him to.

Neither of them was the main singer: they switched roles throughout the song. After the third chorus came what Oliver called the "drum solo"- or, in reality, Swaine giving a catchy rhythm by tapping his shoes and hitting the book against his palm, all the while grinning and chuckling at the end. Oliver's playing kicked in again and the two wrapped up the song.

" _Saving the world with you at my side,"_ they both concluded, both smiling in glee from the spontaneous musical number and leaning into each other. Oliver added a final set of notes, closing the tune. The two started to laugh from the left-over thrill, Oliver gripping the instrument and Swaine doubled over, holding the journal to his stomach.

"You're a real natural, Oliver," his friend said between fits of laughter. Oliver had it worse, so he could only nod, the giggling seemingly never ceasing.

The five were returning to the inn. Music could be heard from inside. They all stopped and exchanged confused glances.

"Those voices…," Esther began, eyeing the inn curiously. "They sound familiar."

Marcassin heard an instrument he hadn't encountered in years. "Is that… A mandolin," he asked, not expecting an answer.

"Sounds like a right ol' party, en't it? A real music fest goin' on in there, mun," the fairy observed jumping up and down. "Don't s'pose it's some sort of rampagin' beastie that somehow broke in, do ya?"

Marcassin and Esther gave him an incredulous look. "What makes you think it's a beast? That's the most well put together musical noise I've heard a beast make if it is one," the ruler argued.

"And wouldn't the walls of the Cat's Cradle be shaking if the other two were fighting," the familiar tamer noted.

The fairy stopped jumping and crossed his arms. "Fine, then it's a very tidy beast that can mimic voices," he grumbled, refusing to let his idea go.

"No, it's Oliver and the green guy's music," Pea answered.

The group looked over at Pea. "…The green guy," the young ruler of Hamelin questioned, drawing up a few ideas on what she meant.

"You know, the guy with the silly gun."

"Gascon," Marcassin asked, flinching. Before he got an answer, he rushed towards the inn, the courtyard now silent, the tune ended.

The inn doors flew open and the two looked up, having just recovered from their laughing fits. They saw Swaine's younger brother standing in the entrance, the group catching up behind him.

The shorter of the brothers eyed the instrument Oliver was holding and shifted his gaze immediately to the taller one. "What's… going on," Marcassin asked, confused.

Oliver froze and looked over to the thief who seemed beside himself at the moment. He then rubbed the back of his neck, looked at the ground, and smiled sheepishly. "I was… teaching Oliver how to play the mandolin," the thief admitted. "Damn," Swaine cursed quietly, remembering Pea's presence. "Guess that's one secret gone."

"Flippin' heck, mun," Drippy shouted. "Another flippin' musician in the group is it? Never pegged ol' thief-face to be fancy delicate art-"

Marcassin turned swiftly to the fairy. "Drippy," he shouted, for once commanding the loudmouth Lord High Lord of the Fairies to silence himself. The ruler turned back to his brother and his friend, smiling at them. "Good to see that your talent didn't go to waste, brother. But tell me this: why did you keep it from your friends," he asked, observing the shocked expression on Esther's and Drippy's faces.

The thief was caught red-handed. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head and looking back up at his brother and the other three. "I didn't want you lot getting any more false ideas about me, what with my past and all. I'm not as worried about it now since Marcassin can vouch for my ownership of Lucy-"

"'Lucy'? Who the flippin' heck is that? The innkeeper? C'mon, mun… Me own mam could come up with better." The fairy first glared at Swaine but was treated with irritated looks from the others. His mouth opened eyes widened but the over-exalted Drippy stayed quiet.

The former prince was the most irritable. He pointed to the fairy angrily. "That. That's another reason. As much as I love playing that instrument, I'd never hear the end of it."

"Well," Esther began, smiling, her hands behind her back. "I think it's sweet. It's good to have more than one hobby. Plus, Oliver sounded good, so you must be a good teacher."

Swaine was taken aback, a pang of guilt striking his stomach for misjudging the girl. Oliver stepped forward, handing Lucy over to Swaine, trading him with the journal. "Yeah, he's great! With his help, we performed a whole song together," touted the young wizard.

Marcassin laughed, placing his arm around his older brother, pulling him into an awkward side hug. He looked over at the young wizard, grinning. "You think that was great, you should hear him play my favorite, 'The Hyper Boar Circus'!"

"That's a real classic," the thief admitted, smiling.

The little green haired girl skipped up to the two brothers, giggling. "Play! Play! Play!"

The older man looked down at his brother with an uncertain look. The young ruler nodded and let go of his brother.

Pea swayed from side to side, pulling on the hem of her dress. "Play the pretty music, Mr. Green Man, please," she begged eagerly.

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on," Swaine eased, already primed to play his instrument. "The Hyper Boar Circus," he said before strumming out the first few notes of the song.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Welcome to the end of the chapter. Sorry for the length. Been planning this one out for a bit. I really wished the game would develop the relationships between the main party just a little more.**

 **I'm still going with the idea that Swaine** _ **didn't**_ **start off as a thief but actually tried something that wasn't common criminal behavior. Like I said, Gascon's a high and mighty kind of guy when you first meet him as a kid. Somehow, he doesn't strike me as the kind of person who'd try and take the easy way out first, despite his later version's pension for being a scaredy-cat.**

 **Oh, and that talent show scene in** _ **Coco**_ **inspired me. Why? If you'd read these things you'd find out!**

 **Anyway, please review. I'd like one review. One. Someone. Please. Tell me what you think. I need to know if I'm doing well or if I'm completely botching this.**


	5. A Brother's Bond

**Author's Note:**

 **Hi. This next drabble dwells on Gascon and Marcassin's relationship as kids as well as brothers. I really wanted to dive more into that because I feel like the game lags in developing the Hamelin Brothers relationship. I also wondered why Swaine has a familiar that's outside his favorite genus when you first meet him, so we get to meet Gunther! Yay!**

 **Anyway. Enjoy**

 **Disclaimer: I wish I owned Swaine. A mini version. We could steal from the rich and give to the poor on a small scale. I don't own Swaine. I don't own the rights. So, there. My dreams are crushed.**

~.~.~

It was young Gascon's dream to work with machines if he weren't royalty. There were so many innovations made every day by the imperial engineering and army. He wished he could learn from them all day.

The prince was a crafty sort, sneaking through the vents on a daily basis- once free of his royal tutors that, to him, never taught him anything entirely useful- to watch them work on some new invention. He snickered quietly when one of them failed, sometimes making a mental note of what _not_ to do when he came up with his own plans.

On days when he didn't do this, he could be found in his room, blueprints of machines he devised on his own littering the floor as he tinkered with his latest prototype or model. He had several "failed" inventions displayed in what would be a luxurious room for a prince, had it not been covered in useless gadgets.

His latest prototype? The "Rough Revolver," a gun that could act like a grappling hook but could be manipulated to grab things from far away. He dubbed it, "Rough" because it still had some kinks to it. He had been working on it all morning, in fact, hoping he could perfect it with some parts he had requested from an engineer friend of his.

As he was adjusting one of the mechanisms, his door opened, the hall light flooding in to meet the light he had rigged over the vanity turned work desk. Papers covered the majority of the mirror, but he could see through the dusty gap a distraught Marcassin running up from behind.

"Gascon, Gascon," he cried frantically, holding two halves of a broken staff in one hand, and eventually tugging on the side of his brother's shirt.

Gascon's hand slipped and managed to catch slightly on a rough piece of metal. He hissed in pain and almost cursed, quickly sticking his offended finger in his mouth. After a few seconds, he glared down at his younger brother. "What," he snapped, immediately regretting it seeing his distressed brother's face.

The toddler of a prince held up the two halves of the staff, tears streaking down his face. "I- I… I broke father's wand," he cried.

The older brother thought for a moment. "You haven't told him yet, have you," he asked, looking down at the contents of his fancy work desk. He began to idly tinker with the gun again, this time on a less finicky feature.

The black-haired boy shook his head, sniffling, bringing the parts of the wand back down to his chest again. He watched as his brother picked up the gun, looking for anything that needed work, besides the obvious bit that had cut into his hand.

"Why don't you try to fix it with magic," the older brown-haired boy asked, placing the gun on the table and looking down at his younger brother. His brother had quite a bit of talent for magic, but he hadn't been monitoring his progress.

The younger brother looked down at the floor littered with small metal shavings from his big brother's projects. He hadn't thought of using magic to fix it. The problem was though, he needed a wand and the only one he had access to was his father's- the wand he broke. Not only that, he wouldn't know what spell to use. He shook his head and looked back up at his older brother. "I need a wand," he reminded him.

Gascon put his elbow on his work table and pressed his hand to his chin in thought. He snapped his fingers and opened one of the drawers, pulling out some heavy-duty adhesive he had smuggled into the palace. He motioned to his brother to hand over the wand. The gooey adhesive was applied to where the staff had snapped in two and the two halves became one again when the older boy pressed it together.

A bright light flashed from the rejoined area and the eldest flew out of his chair, releasing the staff. "Oof," Gascon grunted, bracing his bed as he got up. He looked for the staff, seeing it on the ground behind his overturned chair. It was still joined together, but something about it didn't look right.

Marcassin began to reach for it, but the staff was intercepted by his brother. "Let me try a low-level spell," his older brother suggested. He attempted the simplest spell he knew, one that he hadn't really tried in a while: Form Familiar. The wand sparked and Gascon was sent flying back onto his bed.

"Brother," the child prince called worriedly. He rushed to his brother's side. To his younger brother's amazement, Gascon seemed okay and had somehow held onto the faulty staff this time. "Brother," Marcassin said softly as his older sibling sat up, rubbing his chest.

He glanced around again, looking a little lost. "I feel like something leaped out of me. Something large." They heard a grunting noise and found a Hurly rooting through the older prince's things, studying the schematics for some of his future inventions.

Marcassin clung to his brother in fear, unaware of the creature's origins. The older boy looked down at his younger brother reassuringly. "It's okay. I think…"

The muscular milite turned to face the two, causing the younger brother to hide behind Gascon. He grunted again, this time approaching the princes curiously. As it grew closer, a faint green glow emanated from its form.

"I think…," Gascon whispered, a smile appearing on his face, getting up from his bed and moving away from his brother. He kneeled down to face it.

"Be careful, Gascon," Marcassin called, concerned for his older brother's safety. The Hurly peered around the older prince to look at the young boy. The child inched toward one of the bedposts and braced himself against it while he observed his brother.

Sensing his younger brother's fear, Gascon looked back at him with a smile. "It's alright, brother. It's not some wild beast."

Marcassin leaned forward, believing his brother's words. His fear was replaced in awe. Not even he had formed a familiar yet, despite him having a more natural knack for magic. "Big brother has a familiar…," he asked himself quietly.

The older of the princes chuckled. "So, this is my familiar, huh? And to think, I've never been good at magic!" He patted the Hurly's head, resulting in a hearty grunt while jumping up and down from the tame beast. "I think I'll call you 'Gunther'." A hefty punch hit Gascon in the stomach and he fell back onto the floor, grunting from the impact.

The younger brother winced, leaning back. "B-brother," he asked hesitantly, peering down at a face mixed with pain and joy. He heard him groan, followed by a chuckle as he rubbed his abdomen.

"I think he likes it." Gascon got up, now almost at eye level with Gunther the Hurly. "He's got a heck of a punch," he wheezed. His first familiar wasn't a genus he preferred, but considering how little magic skill he had, he wasn't about to be picky. He nodded at Gunther and the stout muscle-bound creature glowed and became one with its owner again.

The crafty prince held up the wand, frowning. "We can't possibly give this back to father in its current state." He turned his head to look at Marcassin. "We need spells. Maybe, if Form Familiar worked for me, a regenerative spell will work for the wand."

"I don't know any regenerative spells, though," the younger prince confided, shaking his head. He heard his brother sigh and watched as he shook his head.

"You won't be doing the casting. It's too dangerous, Marcassin." He held the wand up and examined where he had fused the two ends together. He sighed again and looked at his brother. "But you will be coming with me. It's as good a time as any for you to learn something new about magic…" He glanced back down at the fractured staff. "And how to properly use it."

Marcassin nodded and he hopped off the bed. His brother picked up the gun and pocketed it. "Where ever will we find such a spell," the child asked the teenager, unaware of any tome of magic spells yet.

Gascon scoffed, heading for the door of his room. "Father's library. He keeps a Wizard's Companion in there." A gasp escaped his younger brother's mouth and he turned to face him.

"We're not allowed in there, Gascon," he warned, not wanting to anger his father. "He said it's off limits to us, remember?" He looked up to his brother, finding that the brown-haired teen had looked guiltily to the side.

"Yeah, but we also don't want him to discover his wand's been broken. I don't know if he has another." He looked back to his younger brother and knelt down to face him at his level. "Don't worry, brother. I'll take full responsibility for it."

Marcassin shook his head again. He looked worried again, not wanting to see his father tell the older boy off again for his lack of skill. "No, brother. It's my responsibility. I broke the staff," he reasoned. "Let's just tell father what happened. Maybe he can fix it."

Gascon frowned, looking down at the staff, then looking at the gun. He had wanted to test it badly and sneaking in to grab the Great Sage's copy of the Wizard's Companion was the best test at the time. But he looked at the concerned face of his younger brother. He set aside his own goals to aid him.

He'd made up his mind: he'd help his brother face his father on the issue.

The older prince met his younger brother's eyes. He reached out and put his wounded hand on Marcassin's shoulder. "We'll go see him, then. Together." The younger prince nodded and hugged his brother.

The Emperor of Hamelin had gone out on an errand the day they agreed to tell him what happened, so they waited until the next morning. The two brothers entered their father's room, broken wand in hand.

Marcassin kneeled before his father, holding up the damaged staff over his bowed head.

The Emperor's eyes widened and immediately shifted to his eldest son who stood a couple feet away from his brother, suspicion replacing the shock. "What happened," he demanded, causing the two siblings to wince.

"I broke it," the youngest admitted. He trembled as the Emperor took the wand from him. The child put his hands down to his sides.

Their father glared at his oldest. "What did I say about watching over him when he practices magic, Gascon," he growled, his bristly mustache riding up on his face.

Gascon stepped forward defiantly. "I didn't know he was practicing!"

The younger prince looked up at his father. "Don't be mad at Brother. It's my fault. I should have told him I was practicing magic first." He clenched his fists even though his young form was still shaking in fear of punishment.

The king continued to glower at his eldest son. "Even so, you should be aware of each other's actions at all times." His face softened when he looked at his youngest, though most determined, son. "At least until Marcassin is old enough to fend for himself."

The oldest stepped forward again, standing right beside his brother. "What use would I be to Marcassin, though. He's already so powerful for his age," the teen assessed. "At this rate, he'll be the one to inherit the throne."

"Would that change how you feel about your brother? Would you abandon him to his own devices," the Emperor challenged his face stern. Aside from him, they were the only family they had. Should anything happen, they would have to rely not only on their own power but each other.

Gascon's eyes widened at what he perceived to be an accusation. He instinctively reached around his younger brother's shoulder and pulled the toddler of a prince close to him. "He would still be my brother. Ruler of Hamelin or not," he confirmed his resolve to protect strengthened. He met his father's gaze, fierce determination ablaze in his eyes.

The younger prince, suddenly being embraced by his older sibling, hesitantly nodded. "Gascon's right."

The king sighed, and he looked at the broken staff. He turned and walked over to one of the dressers in his room, pulling out a long box. "The staff is inconsequential. I'll teach you a spell that can fix it."

The older prince let go of his brother, curious about the box, though baffled by his father's words. "But the wand-," he began, looking at the faulty staff.

The Emperor brought over the box, handing it to Marcassin. "Can be replaced. It's high time Marcassin had his own wand to practice magic with," he praised, opening the box to reveal a red staffed scepter with a golden glass orb at the top.

The young prince's face lit up, picking up the staff that was taller than him. He almost toppled over with it, hearing his father chuckle and claim he'd grow into it. He looked at his brother who was smiling fondly at him.

The Emperor's face went solemn again and he looked at the two of them. "Listen, should anything happen to me, it'll be up to you two to take care of the Empire. If anything should happen to either of you…" He paused. He didn't want to think of either of his sons falling prey to anything.

The two brothers shared a look, a secret vow to look out for each other. It was the Hamelin way to go it alone but putting their own squabbles aside for each other was the way of Gascon and Marcassin- brothers in arms to the very end.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Welcome back. I know… Sappy ending. I also went for a bonding moment between the Emperor and his kids. We don't get to see that in the game.**

 **How Gascon acts toward his brother in this is actually based on how I react to my brother at times.**

 **I really relate to that thief. He's fun to play as in battle, especially when he uses Scatter Shot. He does this really neat twirl. Despite his tacky sense of color, the guy has flair: I'll give him that much.**

 **Anyway. Review, read, and be merry.**


	6. All in a Name

**Author's Note:**

 **So, I decided to do this while playing around in the post-game. Did you know you can have the characters in your party cycle through them calling to each other before battling an enemy for moments on end? I find it amusing. I especially like to switch between Swaine and Marcassin just to hear Marcassin call his brother by is original name.**

 **This sparked the following chapter, mostly because everyone else in the party calls him "Swaine".**

 **Disclaimer: I wish I owned the rights to Ni No Kuni. I'd include cutscenes for things that don't get mentioned. I can't though.**

~.~.~

It had been an argument all morning. The group was beginning to wonder if anything would get done that day as the two brothers volleyed between the two names of the oldest. They sat across from each other, gazes locked, bodies fixed like statues unless one or the other gestured to something.

The young wizard had tried to get the thief in their midst to drop the subject but was met with adamant glares from both sides of Hamelin royalty. It became clear that there was no end- they'd continue their campaigns until the other fell. The boy turned away, looking to Esther, Pea, and Drippy, a silent plea for back up.

Esther tried her hand, but the familiar tamer was met with even greater resistance- the older brother snapping at her to mind her own business. The fairy chimed in after her, reinforcing the attempt to quell the seemingly meaningless match between the two princes, that since they all shared a room- it was cheaper (Marcassin had always wanted to try staying in an inn)- it became their business the moment they started.

It was like moving the iron walls of Hamelin itself, getting them to quit. Pea finally made the suggestion of leaving them alone. Though was more along the lines of wanting to explore the mechanical city outside, but it served the same purpose. As they left the two to stew in their own vortex of sibling rivalry, Oliver asked if there was anything they wanted. They didn't answer, their argument still not going anywhere. He received a side glance from Swaine, a glance the boy had learned meant, "leave me alone" after too many times of going too far over his bounds.

The wizard was the last to leave. He paused at the door when he heard the older man warn him not to take side alleyways for Pea's safety. Oliver nodded, turning to see if they had moved, but the thief had gone back to scowling at his brother, picking up the bottle of Sage's Secret he'd been using as an example all morning to attempt to win his side of the argument. Even if they'd gone back to fussing over something the rest of them considered pointless, Oliver was thankful for his friend's concern for their safety exploring the vast city.

"And I say, 'Gascon'," the ruler abstinently replied to his brother. He refused to call him by that pseudonym he had come up with. What was wrong with his original name? No, he was always going to be "Gascon" to him. It didn't matter if his brother called himself "The King of the Hoggle-Boggles" he'd still call him by the name he was born with.

Swaine let a low growl escape him. He slammed the potion onto the bed for the hundredth time that day. Never mind the fact that the Empire's army would've been looking for him under that identity, he honestly couldn't understand why his brother stuck with calling him that old moniker. He hated it. He hated who he was then. He left it and the Empire behind to find his own identity. It was a reminder of all his failures as the possible heir to the throne. But his brother kept throwing it back at him.

"I told you, call me 'Swaine', from now on," he repeated for what felt like maybe eternity. It was like an endless loop, this farce. He finally threw his arms up in bewilderment, a change in countenance to the previous bitter and stagnant face off. "Why do you insist on calling me that? You want everyone to know who the hell I am?"

The younger brother raised a quizzical eyebrow. It wasn't that at all. He was proud of his brother's name. It, to the sage, was a strong name that commanded respect. "No, but does it matter? That's who you are and who you always will be to me," he confided, hoping that his words did anything but anger Gascon more. He soon regretted his choice, the rugged man before him leaning back suddenly with his mouth ajar.

The jacket clad thief gripped the sheets as he leaned forward, his face stern. "You'd rather remember me as the older brother who abandoned you? Who wasn't there when you needed him most? Who turned his back on his country," Swaine interrogated, pain seeping into his words, though his expression un-wavered. The younger prince's words stabbed him in the heart. He had hated going back to the past in the first place. Seeing himself, his past actions, it reminded him all too well of his negligence and inexperience. That's why he was so adamant about his name. "Swaine" was a different person- he had reasoned. "Swaine" was just a man, no nobility about him, that tried to survive. No power, no magic, no one to impress- he was just a common beggar to the everyday person.

His brother didn't see it that way. Marcassin still saw the young prince that had left all those years ago. He still saw his teacher, mentor, and only surviving family member. He saw what his predecessor was- the original heir to controlling the entire Empire. Most importantly, he still saw him as his brother. "If you had truly abandoned me, brother, you would have never returned." He observed as Swaine looked away from him in a vain attempt to hide a wounded look. "As for the rest…," he paused. He looked down at the plush royal blue carpet that covered the metal floor as if the fibers held all the answers to his older brother's questions.

The Dark Djinn would probably still be continuing his reign of terror without the support his brother had provided them in their battle. He realized then that, aside from a handing over a few spells and some magic used to help finish the Clarion, he was completely outclassed by his older brother in actual effort. He looked up at the glowering man, and though Marcassin was a ruler, he felt like a peasant in his older brother's presence. "All the magic in the world and I couldn't even join the battle, brother," he began, earning a baffled look from Swaine.

It was the thief's turn to raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What are you on about," he asked, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, his once clenched hands flying up before returning to the cream sheets of the large bed.

"You've outdone me at every turn. You actually helped Oliver face the Dark Djinn, Ga-," he cleared his throat, remembering his brother's qualms. He looked at his right hand, shame gracing his delicate features. "You were there for him. You fought alongside him. You helped make him as powerful as he is now. And I, a Great Sage? I sat in my palace giving orders and practicing politics while you and Esther fought alongside the savior of this world." He looked up to meet Swaine's now softened but concerned gaze, his hands now resting on his knees. The younger took his prior's hands in his. "I know you not as the version you remember." Before the thief could interject or pull away as he was wont to do, Marcassin gripped his brother's hands and leaned forward his expression earnest.

"I remember a brave and determined Gascon: a brother and prince wise beyond his royal instruction. I remember the brother who would design machines beyond my own imagination- who's eyes lit ablaze when a new contraption rolled out of a workshop." He watched as the corners of his brother's mouth twitched, a sign his words were reaching him at least. "I remember my mentor- my closest friend- so enthusiastically asking me to help him put together a model pig tank and how excited he was to see it work. That's the Gascon I remember- and I could never do what he does or has done."

A moment of silence passed before either said a word to each other. Each of them stared in contemplation at their clasped hands dangling over the carpet.

Swaine- no, Gascon had always thought himself as the inferior one, despite being the older brother. To hear his brother's true thoughts on the matter- to hear that he held him in such high regard despite his lack of magic ability- had shattered his argument and his resolve on the name issue. It had also warmed his heart and made his soul soar with joy. One thing bothered the older prince, though: his brother seemed to be putting himself down prior to all of that.

He finally looked back to Marcassin, disappointed to see that, despite his earlier praise, the young ruler seemed bothered. He saw an uncertain and even unconfident look, a look he had only seen when his heart was broken. "Marcassin," he called out, his voice calm and steady, guiding his sibling's head as he slowly looked up.

"You did your part, and you did it exceptionally. Hell, if you hadn't given Oliver those spells or knew anything about prepping the Clarion, we'd be in an awful way." He proudly smiled at his brother. "We couldn't have beaten him without your help."

Marcassin was at a loss for words. He simply stared at Gascon, his hands going slightly slack, but otherwise still holding onto his brother's. Had he really forgotten how useful he himself had been? He mentally berated himself for being foolish. He looked down before apologizing for forgetting his role in the entire ordeal.

The thief took this opportunity to release his hands from his brother's loosened grip. His smile devolved into a smirk and he studied the bedside table adorned with tiny pig head shaped handles on the drawers. He scratched the back of his head, fighting the mess of curly brown hair and looked at his brother. "Oh and… Don't worry about the name. Call me whatever you like." He paused, realizing the loophole in his rationale. "Just nothing too ridiculous."

Marcassin's form loosened up from the stiff awkwardness of the situation. He leaned forward in surprise, a gleeful smile on his face. "So, I can call you 'Lord Hoggle-Boggle'," he teased.

Gascon grimaced, the silliness of the name too much for even him. He waved it off as it were an annoying insect. "Hey, now." He stopped, a sly grin crawling into existence. He straightened up as much as he could with a hunch, attempting a regal look with his hand on his chest. "That's 'Lord High, Lord of the Hoggle-Boggles' to you, 'your highness'," he joked mockingly, stealing the fairy's schtick for the sake of it.

The two of them laughed together in what felt like decades. The joke had, for the moment, transported them to happier days of their childhood. When the laughter died down, the older of the princes announced he was going to lay down, calling it a day. The younger nodded, left to his own devices until the others returned.

"Marcassin," the older prince called. Sleep began to catch him, but the warmth of his gratitude seeped into his voice.

The younger who had gotten up to inspect a painting on the wall of the room turned to his brother. He could only see the back of Gascon, his jacket acting as a makeshift sheet for the thief.

"Thank you… For believing in me."

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **I love writing for these two. If you haven't noticed, the fic title actually comes from the first chapter's context. However, I like to imagine Marcassin is nymph-like, thereby justifying my writing about him and Swaine (and keeping Gemini the Greater Naiad in the thief's brood of familiars).**

 **The argument they're having is also based on an ongoing argument between me and my mother about my name. I don't like my name for… historical reasons.**

 **Personal stuff aside: Check out the** _ **The Cat's Cradle**_ **forum for this game made by** **Wherever Girl** **! It's great! You can discuss theories, pairings, plot holes, or just your favorite parts of the game! (Mine's the Hamelin arc if you haven't noticed.)**

 **Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this drabble. Here's to more- if there are more. I wonder if these drabbles would be more effective as one-shots, but I don't know if I can repost content as stand-alone stories like that… I'll have to check the Guidelines.**

 **I do keep track of the traffic stats on this fic, so I know there are people who** _ **do**_ **read it. I'd like to hear their thoughts. (I bet they're just shy. It's okay. I won't bite. I promise.) If you're not one of those people, please, review anyway.**


	7. True Intent

**Author's Note:**

 **Hi, everyone! I decided to write about Swaine and Oliver's relationship as friends. Cause next to Marcassin, Oliver's my favorite guy to write about getting into shenanigans with the thief. Part of this may be because of** **Wherever Girl** **'s Like A Brother fic. (You're welcome for the shameless advertising, WG.)**

 **Disclaimer: If you seriously think I own any rights to anything involving this game you need to get your head checked. I don't. I don't think I ever will.**

~.~.~

Of all the places to set up camp, the Miasma Marshes were the worst. It felt like everything, even the trees, were out for blood. Hence, why they slept in shifts- two of them on guard duty while the other two slept. Drippy and Esther called the second shift, leaving Oliver and the thief on first.

"Hey, why do I have to get first shift," Swaine complained, not wanting to have to look out at the creepy marsh anymore than he had to. He stepped back suddenly when he received a tired glare from the familiar tamer- a glare that almost put the swamp's nature to shame. "I mean, wouldn't it be better if the fairy was on first shift? It'll get dark soon and he can sense things better than I ever-!"

A loud snore broke his argument down as his attention swiftly diverted to the lantern adorned fairy who had quickly fallen into a deep sleep on the ground. He slapped his forehead, throwing his head back with an aggravated groan. "Fine," he snapped softly. He walked off a couple feet from the others, looking into the forest they had just come from.

Esther, glad to not have to argue with the man, quickly turned in and snuggled down into her sleeping bag near the fire. The wood didn't come from the marshes, but from elsewhere in the world. The four weren't even sure if wood from this place would even light.

The young wizard took a seat near the thief, looking out into the depths of the swamp as well. They sat for quite a while in silent contemplation, listening to the foreboding sounds natural to this place and this place alone.

At first, when they entered, each sound had made everyone jump a little. Even the Tombstone trail, as dreary as it was, wasn't as dark and ominous as the marshes. After a day or so of traveling, though, it wasn't as bad. Nevertheless, it was still a little creepy.

The wizard glanced up at his older friend and noticed that he seemed a bit on edge. He began to doubt if his friend would get any sleep even if he _had_ taken second shift. As usual, Swaine played his part reluctantly.

Oliver, alone with his thoughts despite keeping the thief in a silent company, began to reflect on their journey together. Yeah, Esther was the first person to join him on his quest to face Shadar and save his mother, but when things got tough- and they often did- he found himself relying on Swaine more and more. At first, he wasn't sure when he met him- his nonchalant and bitter attitude, as well as his preferred profession were definitely obstacles- but the man was just as dependable as Esther.

Why did he stick around after everything in Hamelin, though? He had made it home. That was his end goal, wasn't it? He complained time and time again before they entered dangerous territory, but his cowardly side comments never showed in his fighting- he gave it his all, usually.

Oliver looked up again at Swaine, who was now nervously looking from side to side. He decided to take the thief's mind off of his paranoia a little. He worried it would affect him if a real threat exposed itself. "Hey, Swaine?"

The thief suddenly looked down at the young wizard, jumping at the sudden sound. "Oh! Oliver, don't do that," he quietly exclaimed. "What is it?"

"I was wondering. Why didn't you stay in Hamelin?"

That was not the way Swaine expected to be caught off guard that night. He shot a puzzled look at his young friend. "What do you mean? We've got to beat Shadar, don't we? Why would I stay in Hamelin if the world was at stake," he half-joked, letting out a nervous chuckle.

Oliver looked down for a moment. The man could have left anytime he wanted after that, though. He would have understood if he did. No normal sane person would have stayed. "But when we entered the Glittering Grotto and the Vault of Tears… You could have left if you wanted-"

The thief shot him a glare he'd never seen before. It seemed all the nervous energy vanished. "I wasn't about to let the lot of you just go in alone- _by yourselves._ "

Oliver observed as his friend looked back out into the dense marshland and then look back to Esther and the fairy. "And, in any case…" He looked back and down to his lap where he was holding his Rogue's Revolver.

"The kingdoms being sorted is only a temporary fix. I'm not about to let that bastard get away with what he's done."

So, it was a vindictive cause. Are we just means to an end? The young wizard thought as he looked up in shock at the thief. Was he just helping them, so he could get closer to Shadar? Was that why his fighting was so good despite his complaints?

Swaine must have noticed the betrayed look in Oliver's eyes. His expression immediately softened when he looked at the boy. The thief shook his head and sighed. "Don't get me wrong, Oliver. Revenge _is_ one of the reasons I even bothered, but… it isn't the only reason I stick with you lot. There's something special about our little group I just can't place," he admitted, running his free hand over the muzzle of his gun.

The thief leaned back, releasing his grip on his main weapon to brace himself with his arms. He looked at the hazy sky. "Yes, the Glittering Grotto may have been freezing and the Vault of Tears a bit creepy, but despite wanting to bow out and run away, you needed me."

Oliver looked back out at the woods. "So… we're _not_ just tools for your revenge," he asked hesitantly. He received a baffled look.

"The hell, Oliver? What kind of question is that? 'Tools for my revenge…' When you put it like that, you make me sound like some manipulative mastermind." He shook his head, grabbed his gun, and stood up. He looked down at the young wizard who now seemed to be reconsidering his word choice.

Before Oliver knew it, Swaine was pulling him off the ground to stand up. "Let me get one thing straight. If anything happened to you, Esther, or even the blasted fairy, I don't know what I'd do," he stated, staring the wizard straight in the eye. He let go, almost shoving the boy as he turned away.

A couple of long quiet seconds drifted by.

Swaine began quietly, "I haven't been truly wanted or depended on for fifteen years, Oliver. Most people wouldn't've given me a second thought. You…" He looked back at his friend. "I don't know what would have happened if you didn't come along."

Another long silent moment passed before the thief sat back at his post again. It gave the wizard time to rethink his friend's motives. He sat back down next to the man, this time not sensing any of the paranoid agitation from before. All Oliver sensed was the hurt look on his friend's face. He almost felt guilty. He looked back to the thief who had taken to rhythmically tapping the handgun on his knee.

"Sorry, Swaine, for doubting you," The young wizard apologized. He didn't receive any vocal acceptance, but the hurt look on Swaine's face had shifted to a more neutral one. "…And thank you for your help. I really appreciate it." Oliver didn't look back to his friend after that, letting the subject drop.

The thief smirked, taking a small glance at his friend before replacing his focus on the woods. There were still many trials for their little group to face.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **So, this one's based on a recurring issue I have found: Swaine complains like a coward, but his actions don't match. Think about it, he gripes about the Vault of Tears being creepy and the Glittering Grotto being too cold, but the guy doesn't turn around and say, "Nope, I'm out!" I could make this argument with the Fairygrounds, too. He could have just waited out the nonsense down below, but he's intent on sticking with the group.**

 **My thoughts are that, by the time after everything's done in Hamelin, he grew quite attached. In fact, when you meet Myrtle again later, he claims to be put in charge of Oliver and Esther like an older brother or guardian. He's kind of assigned himself the responsibility of watching the two.**

 **It's so conflicting that I'm surprised no one called Swaine out on this in the actual dialogue of the game.**

 **Anyway, review. I'd like to hear your thoughts.**


	8. Familiar Trials

**Author's Note:**

 **Heyya! I decided to write another one about the familiars from my end. I kind of wanted to write about how I switched it up with Swaine's party but from the group's perspective. Also, some minor fluff with a Lagoon Naiad… Cause I love the Nymphaea genus. They're adorable.**

 **Shout out to** **Moonbird** **for being the first to review this mess of drabbles. They've given me some new perspective on things in and out of the game. Thanks for the lovely chat we've been having!**

 **Disclaimer: Hah! You thought it was a person who had rights to the game, but it was I, Yuni! (Self-disclaimer: Yuni does not watch Jo-jo's Bizarre Adventure, she just knows that one joke.)**

~.~.~

Joining Oliver and Esther in their travels was going to be more trouble than he thought. Their "preparations" weren't just gathering supplies.

The two had decided to see what role in the group their newest addition played.

"I thought I made it clear," the thief began, following the kids out of Castaway Cove. "What part of 'packing a punch' do you not understand?" He shook his head as they entered the bayous just outside of town. "We don't have time for this."

Esther wagged a finger at Swaine, walking backward with a cheeky smile on her face. "Ah, ah, ah! We've got to see what familiars do good with you in a fight!" She giggled and turned back around.

They came to a clearing. The young wizard turned around and asked the lanky man to call on his familiar- to which he obliged. When the Hurly came out, Oliver took out the creature cage and took a small peek inside. "Alright. I want to try something different with you, Swaine." He closed the cage and looked back at their newest member. "Do you think you can do without Gunthur as your familiar for now?"

Swaine stepped back apprehensively. Gunthur was the first and only familiar he ever conjured- he felt lucky to even have him. What did the boy plan to do with him? "Why," he asked, eyes narrowing.

"I want to see about a unique set up. We want to see what works for you, so I know who to give it to after we tame something," Oliver calmly explained, smiling at the thief.

The thief eyed the wizard suspiciously. He looked down to Gunthur who turned to face him with a grunt. He looked back up at the young red-head. "What happens to Gunthur?"

"Huh? Well…," the wizard scratched his head with his wand.

"We'll put him in someplace nice and safe," Esther reassured, familiar with the process.

Oliver nodded affirmatively. "Yeah. He'll be fine! You can even go see him!"

Swaine sighed, looking down at his stout burly familiar. The hurly pounded itself on the chest with one fist. "I guess it's par for the course, boy." The man looked back to the small creature cage, then knelt down to almost eye level with his small muscle-bound friend. "Go on," he coaxed gently, smiling.

Gunthur turned around and, with a grunt, jumped into the creature cage, disappearing.

The first combination of familiars, the thief soon found was, for lack of a better term, disappointing.

Oliver, for some reason, had the sense to give him a little bighorn as one of his partners, a bird-like creature that hoisted itself around using two large horns.

The thief raised an eyebrow at it, unsure of the seemingly avian creature. Eryk tilted its head in response and mimicked its new master's look. "So, what now," Swaine asked while putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot. It wasn't like the boat was going to leave them, but he'd rather leave sooner than later.

"I send out a familiar and we see how you do," the boy cheered happily. He sent out a mighty mite he called Bitworl.

A sparring match, then? Swaine thought. He shrugged- better against a newfound ally than a wild beast, he reasoned. "Ready," the thief shouted optimistically to his new familiar. Eryk gave him a disdainful look.

In seconds, Bitworl was rushing toward the two, ready to strike them down. Swaine proceeded to do as he usually did with his former familiar…

He found out quickly how hard that beak was, though it wasn't the creature's own. Bitworl stopped in its tracks. The small soldier, along with its master looked on in shock while a confused Swaine was being pecked on the head by Eryk repeatedly. The creature had somehow managed to jump onto the man's shoulder, leaving its horns behind.

"The hell- Get off! You're supposed to attack Oliver's familiar, not me!" Swaine struggled for a moment before recalling the ornery beast. He bent over and caught his breath and then glowered at Oliver. "Was he always that way?"

"Eryk," Esther asked rhetorically, disbelief creeping into her voice. "No. He's always been a sweetheart…" She thought for a moment. "What did you tell him to do," she accused from a nearby log.

"Nothing. I just told him to attack and then…" He made a broad gesture to the even more frazzled mess his clothes were in now, thanks to the masked familiar. "Well. This."

The wizard scratched the back of his head with his wand apologetically, looking away. "Yeah, sorry. He probably just doesn't agree with you as a master or something." His cheery disposition returned. "Try the others. Maybe they'll work."

Swaine continued to frown as he straightened himself up. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot again. "I still don't see what's wrong with Gunthur."

"Just do it," Esther wined, annoyed at the thief's stubbornness.

The next one he received was a bonehead- a literal skeleton- named Markov. "What kind of name is 'Markov'," he criticized. He actually liked the idea of using a skeleton to fight. It added a bit of an intimidating edge.

Oliver shrugged. "Sometimes I think of weird names for them and they stick." Swaine shot him a look. The kid may have been just as crazy as he first appeared.

The bonehead took to the man well, to his surprise. The only issue the thief found was how weak the undead soldier was. _Such a shame_ , he thought. He had really hoped for a powerhouse of a familiar. Not… _this_. He shook his head solemnly as he called Markov back.

"No good, huh? Uh… Well… The next one's kind of odd. It mostly uses abilities to attack."

"Abilities," Swaine exclaimed. "You realize I'm not a heavy magic user, right? Let's just say It's never been my forte." He held his hands out and looked down at the patch of dirt at his feet.

"But…," the wizard began, surprised.

"You can summon familiars," the blond finished, narrowing her eyes. "You're probably just lazy and didn't put in the effort."

The thief looked at the girl, a knowing smirk on his face. "Oh, I put in a quite a bit of effort learning the ins and outs of the craft." He placed a hand on his hip, pivoting to slightly face her. "I just don't have the power." He turned his head to face Oliver. Let's hope it's at least useful. He thought, eager to see what was in store.

The next familiar assigned to him was Gemini, a small, jellyfish-like companion that held a magenta gem in its nubs. Its face seemed kind of vacant of expression at first, but it quickly replaced that expression when it saw its new master. Swaine found it odd that it beamed so happily up at him. What did it find so lovely?

Bitworl was sent out again. Gemini was commanded forward to attack. When told to strike, it attempted to swat at its opponent with small tendrils. The mighty mite simply took the hits. They didn't do too much damage. To the man, it wasn't much of a fighter and perhaps even weaker than the skeleton.

Just when Swaine thought he had seen enough, the tiny water creature countered its sparring partner. He, who had his face in his palms looked up to see Gemini swatting away the broadsword. The tiny warrior backed away, readying a larger attack.

For an instant, the thief saw through the eyes of the jellyfish-like nymph. While it wasn't a devastating attack, it wasn't anything to sneeze at either. When Bitworl began to slice through the air, Swaine instinctively shielded himself, still keeping an eye on the action through a gap in his arms.

Gemini had found a space in the attack to hide its face in its own appendages, nimbly dodging slices without getting hit.

Once the onslaught was through, Oliver called back his familiar. Leaving the thief to stare at his last trial partner. He looked down at the small creature, its face still beaming up at him with pride. It bounced the gem in its stubby paws like a child bouncing a ball and then looked back up.

"You're quite the nimble one, aren't you? Too bad, though. You don't have the power or strength I'm looking for." He held his hands out, shaking his head slowly, sadly. The small creature looked down at the ground, its smile gone.

What is it sad for? It didn't work out. That's just how things are. Swaine thought, raising an eyebrow.

"So, what do you think," Esther began, looking at the familiar/master pair.

"I don't know…" Their older companion scratched the back of his head and looked up at the sky. He looked at the young wizard. "Got any beasts? I'll keep the skeleton, but he needs some work," he asked, giving up on the idea of asking for his old familiar back.

"I do have one. I don't use him that much, though… What about the others?" Oliver looked down to the lagoon naiad who had her head even lower. "Gee," the boy began, use to seeing a vacant expression on its face. "It sure doesn't look happy."

"Yeah, what did you do, Swaine," the girl demanded scathingly, walking up to him.

Swaine put on a nonchalant front, a smirk on his face and his arms crossed. "Do? I didn't do anything. I just don't know if this one's particularly…," he paused and to the two, something important dawned on him. He turned back to Oliver quickly with a more focused look. "Hey, kid," he started.

"It's Oliver," the three corrected, one of them actually surprising the thief. The fairy had actually been pretty quiet this whole time. Either that or Swaine had been tuning him out over the noise of the fights. Now that the man thought of it, it was possible Drippy had been distracted by something.

"Right, Oliver. Got it," he swiftly corrected himself. "Anyway. How much do you use Gemini, here?"

"You don't use it much, now that I think about it," the girl noted, leaning her head to the side and putting her hand on her chin in thought.

"He doesn't use it at all," Drippy confirmed, nodding from his place below everyone else.

Swaine nodded, a knowing smirk growing on his face. "I'll take it then," he accepted as he looked down gently at the jellyfish.

At those words, the nymph's face brightened back up and was back to beaming at its new owner. It threw the gem in its hand up and floated up to catch it, repeating this process until it was safely above the thief's head. It slowly drifted down and snuggled into the mess of brown hair.

"Hey, what are you up to," Swaine asked with a half chuckle, raising his right hand in response to the sudden addition to his head. The nymph shifted sleepily.

Esther, puzzled, smiled at the adorable site. The naiad had never before seemed so content to the others. "Why'd you change your mind," she asked curiously.

It took a moment for the question to register as their new companion was, distractedly, petting the sleeping Gemini, a small fond and comfortable smile contradicting the constantly tired look. He stopped and put his hand down. He frowned in recollection and the expression made his entire person seem even more worn out than it was. "Let's just say," he began solemnly.

Not wanting to divulge any secrets, his eyes shifted to something nearby. "I know a thing or two about being 'unwanted' by someone. Let's leave it at that."

Silence prevailed, and the others looked down at the ground, taking in what Swaine had admitted.

"Well, you're wanted here. And so is Gunthur," Esther happily encouraged.

The thief's focus shifted back to the two youthful faces suddenly when he heard his old familiar's name. "I do want him back on my team…," he thought aloud as he scratched the back of his head. His eyes glanced to the side in thought, frowning. "Ah, hell." He shook his head with a smile. "We'll see what happens with this bunch. Gunthur could use a nice break."

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **And that break became indefinite. Because I never put that guy back in. Sorry, Swaine. You** _ **do**_ **get a big fluffy snow monster later in my version.**

 **Eryk never did well with Swaine and he was one of the first ones I added. Let's just say thief-boy here kept falling on his face. He did a lot better when I introduced Vemahl, the Dumbelemur.**

 **Anyway, review if you want. I'm going to go write about Swaine being in one of his favorite places… The Winter Isles. *Hears a distant defiant shout in despair.* Like I said, reviews are welcome and try not to get pickpocketed. Bye! *Runs before shots are fired.***


	9. Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

 **Yo! I did it. I wrote about the Winter Isle's arch… and a little about heading to Perdida… But mostly Winter Isles. I introduce one of the familiars that kind of grew on me (kind of like how Swaine did) as I had him in my party: the** **Sasquash turned Papa Sasquash here. I changed the name due to fear of copyright, but all's good. It's still, to me, the same derpy 'squash that I love.**

 **Anyway. Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I own this game like I own a real-life yeti. I don't own a Yeti. Where would I even keep one?**

~.~.~

The chilly winter air attempted to cut through the group, despite their newly obtained coats. They trudged up the hill towards the cave. Luckily, their warmth was well maintained due to all the beasts they fought during their trek up the mountain.

The two kids and the fairy seemed to do well acclimating to the snowy terrain. The thinner older man that accompanied them, however, stumbled now and again, all the while shivering in the cold.

They had nearly reached the Glittering Grotto- it could be seen in the distance. "Wow, it really does glitter," Oliver admired, gazing at the frozen over snow topping the entrance.

As if on cue, there was a soft thud behind the three. They looked back to see the thief lying face first in the snow, his arms sprawled out as if he had tried to catch himself in the fall.

"Oi, mind youer step. Snow places like this one, here, have got some pretty nasty terrain," the fairy warned a moment too late.

"Hey, are you alright," Esther asked out of concern.

Swaine lifted his head from the snow and clumps of the frozen material fell from his face in a small pile in front of him, small flecks of white sticking to his hood and parts of his face. "Oh, I'm fine. You know. Just freezing in the tundra of the Winter Isles," he sarcastically snapped. "Just peachy." He got up and began to dust himself off angrily. A chill seemed to run through him, the wet of the snow having seeped into his parka.

He shivered worse now, holding himself tighter than before. "Dammit. Now I'm even colder…," he cursed quietly.

"Will you stop complaining? We're all cold," the blond chastised.

"He is a bit thin. Maybe it affects him more," Oliver defended, remembering how gaunt the man looked when they first met.

"Maybe he needs a thicker jacket, like," suggested Drippy, crossing his arms and jerking his head at Swaine.

"What I need is to get out of this pla-!" Before he could finish their retort a blur of white tackled him. The three jumped and it took a moment to process what they were seeing. There on top of the thief was a Sasquash, pinning him down in the snow. "Ack! What the hell?!" He gazed up at a blue ape-like face in shock and fear as it sniffed him.

Oliver and Esther rushed to aid their friend, afraid of what it might do to the thief. To their wonder, the creature started to lick Swaine's face excitedly. The two kids exchanged a curious glance before breaking into a giggling fit.

"Pfft-! Yech… Hey! A little help, you two," the man cried as he continued to be assaulted by a large pink tongue.

"I think you made a new friend, Swaine," Oliver commented between giggles much to his friend's chagrin.

"It matches you perfectly," the familiar tamer added, covering her mouth with her glove as more laughter escaped her. Swaine glared at them sourly.

The creature suddenly stopped licking him to his relief. It seemed to maneuver around him, still pinning the thief in the snow, and sat next to the man's body. It picked him up and held him like a baby, pressing the former prince into its fur.

The warmth of the fur shocked Swaine, expecting a creature from the cold wastelands of the Winter Isles to be just as frigid as its environment. Despite the newfound comfort, he didn't like the idea of being coddled like a child.

"So… What do we do? It doesn't seem hostile for a Sasquash," the young wizard observed. He couldn't help but smile at how restrained the thief was being, despite how he was being handled.

"Yeah, maybe it confused Swaine for one of its pack," Esther reasoned, though unsure. "Wait… its kind roam in packs, right?"

"Does he look like a furry snow beast," Drippy commented irritably looking up at her, overlooking the girl's question.

"Well, we can't just attack it, it might hurt him. Or it might hurt us… or both," Oliver thought, looking to the others.

While they bickered, the thief had relaxed into the fluffy giant's arms, happy for the warmth it provided him. He knew he had to have looked absolutely ridiculous, but he didn't care. Anything beat freezing to death in the cold wet snow.

A snore alerted the three from their argument on what to do with the Sasquash. They looked to find that Swaine had fallen asleep in its arms. The beast nuzzled the thief, who only shifted in response.

"Heavy sleeper as always," Esther sighed. She began to walk towards the fluffy monster.

Seeing the girl coming close to it and its new friend, the Sasquash let out a loud snarl. It startled their sleeping companion awake.

"What the- Did I fall asleep?!" He felt the creature's grip on him tighten and heard it growl even louder as Esther and Oliver cautiously continued to approach. "Hey, hey," Swaine soothed, freeing his right arm and placing his hand gently on the giant fluffy being's face. "You don't need to protect me from them."

The Sasquash cast a softened look at Swaine who gave a reassuring nod. It wined in confusion, looking between the thief and his party before eventually, gently, letting the man go.

The two stopped advancing on the strange pair and watched as their older friend pet the yeti on the head, receiving a side nuzzle in return. "Did Swaine just…" Esther began.

"He did… He tamed a familiar," Oliver finished, astonished at the sudden addition to their team.

They continued to watch as Swaine called out Soliton the Grandsun, explaining the change in his crew of familiars. The Grandsun gave a nod- as much as it could being a flaming disk with a face and flew into the creature cage.

"How about it, do you want to be part of the team," the thief asked, jabbing his thumb at the other three. It looked at them and the man it had recently just tackled and cuddled with and nodded, but not before scratching its chest. Swaine chuckled and pet the giant fuzz-ball again. "You're not all bad, see? Just a big squishy pushover…"

"So you made a new friend," Oliver asked, drawing closer to the two.

The thief scratched the back of his head, though the parka softened the action. "Yeah, just in time, too. I was beginning to think I needed a familiar with a little more 'oomph' to it." He looked down at the burly snow beast with a smile. "Squishy hear will help with that, for sure."

"'Squishy'…," Esther asked. It wasn't the first name she'd go with for the yeti-like creatures.

"What? He's big and squishy. You've got a better name," Swaine retorted, waiting to hear their ideas.

"No, Squishy's a good name," Oliver corrected before Esther could continue their verbal match. As soon as its name was decided, Squishy started to glow a faint green, a sign that it had joined the thief's brood of familiars.

* * *

They had been up all night making strategic plans for the inevitable battle against Shadar. On top of that, they had recently faced many monsters akin to the area around Perdida. The group was subsiding on coffee alone to keep them awake.

It didn't cut it for the thief anymore. Noticing how close he was to passing out on their way up the mountain, he stopped a few feet behind the others.

Esther and Oliver turned around, holding the small cups of espresso. Their conversation about what the fight would be like and what familiars to use ceased when they saw the older man begin to sway from side to side.

"You don't look so good," Oliver said, watching as Swaine nearly stumbled and from his own lack of cognizance.

He shook his head, trying to fend off sleep. He put his right hand out to ease his younger friends' worries. "'t's okay," he slurred out of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. It hadn't been an easy day for any of them. "I'll be fine…," he yawned, slowly beginning to walk up the hillside.

"You certainly don't look 'fine'," Esther added a little groggily herself- the espresso was enough to keep her up though.

Swaine shot her an irritable look. He tried to move faster to prove his point, but tripped over himself, landing on top of a familiar furry snow monster. The thief opened his eyes and looked at the creature's face with a smile. "Thanks, Squishy…" He leaned into Yeti for a moment, the soft fur beckoning him to sleep.

The Papa Sasquash snorted in response, rolling its eyes. It picked up its lanky friend and put him on its back. The beast, now almost larger than its owner, walked up to the others, signaling them to continue up to Perdida.

"Can you do that," the familiar tamer asked, looking at Oliver. The wizard looked to Mr. Drippy.

"He's not even awake… How's that possible," the boy asked.

Drippy watched as the creature effortlessly climbed up the mountain, sleeping thief in tow. "He can as long as his will demands it."

"Really," the two kids exclaimed in shock.

The fairy nodded. "It's not like he's asking it to do much, is it? As long as it's nothing too big and thief-face wills it, the big fluffy so-and-so can do whatever he ordered it to do, even asleep."

"So, it _can't_ be used in battle," the blond clarified.

The fairy nodded and the three followed the giant creature up to Perdida. Oliver reflected on how the furry beast joined them. It still puzzled him to that day.

Esther, noticing the lost look on her companion's face, nudged him. His head snapped up to attention. "Huh," he asked, looking in her direction.

"Something the matter? You look concerned."

The red-head nodded. "Oh… Yeah. It's about Squishy."

"What about him?"

"It's not like Swaine chose him, it's more like he chose Swaine," Oliver discussed, waving his hands subtly for emphasis.

Esther put her hand to her chin. "Yeah, I see what you mean…" She yawned.

The young wizard chuckled. "It's funny what you think of when you're sleepy." He received a chuckle in return.

"Haha, yeah." She looked to the Papa Sasquash who had taken the lead, smirking at the snoring thief draped over its back.

Needless to say, they were checking into an inn the moment they reached town.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **So, we meet again. The end of another drabble.**

 **I wanted to write about my Papa 'Squash, Appa but felt to change the name. Copyright and stuff. He was originally got for a quest, but I figured to keep him around for the sake of giving Swaine a tank. Plus, I like the idea of Swaine having a big fluffy friend that he could ride around on if he wanted to. I think he'd look pretty freaking OP riding the furry snow monster into battle.**

 **Also, I wanted to touch on something. I think it would have been cool to have it where different characters tame beasts differently and even have it where the beasts choose who they prefer to be tamed by. Some of them could even deviate from that character's favored genus. Kind of like how various characters have different miracle moves. I just don't like always having to have Esther on the team to catch familiars when I could have Marcassin, Swaine, or Oliver fill the role. My Esther has a lower level than those three, so it** _ **does**_ **put me at a handicap.**

 **At any rate. Review with thoughts. I'd love to hear 'em. Don't be shy.**


	10. Devout Protector

**Author's Note:**

 **So… Here's the thing. If there's anything that I love about the thief, it's his steadfast dedication to his friends and family, even going so far as to correct his younger self on Marcassin's behalf. Even the official website underplays this fact about the guy.**

 **In wanting to write more of this, I may have included some implied but justified violence in this one. Fair warning.**

 **Shout out to** **Malecxx** **for reviewing this on Archive of Our Own. Thank you for the encouraging words!**

 **Enjoy some brotherly antics, will ya?**

 **Disclaimer: I own the rights to my ideas. Real talk, this one's inspired by two other fics besides Wherever Girl's "Like a Brother": "Return of the Porcine Prince" by** **Moonbird** **and "The Makings of a Scoundrel" by** **DuckofIndeed** **. Go and check them out.**

~.~.~

A bright light shown in the palace halls and a young boy about fourteen stood in front of a pig-themed fountain. It had been nearly a year since they had saved the world… twice. To be honest, the young wizard missed the thrill of it all. Getting back to having a normal life was hard- everything was so mundane compared to what he'd been through.

" _We'll go somewhere dangerous- for old time's sake,"_ he remembered a friend of his saying before he had tried to leave the first time. While his attempt was completely botched, the boy was going to hold that man to his promise.

He ran through the halls, the first stop being the young ruler of Hamelin's chambers. If anyone knew where to find the thief, it would be Marcassin. Oliver knocked on the doors to his majesty's inner sanctum.

The door cracked open to reveal a face the young hero didn't recognize- well at first. The man who had answered the door had tan skin and thick wavy side swept brown bangs covering the forehead of a long, filled out face with a rounded, but average clean-shaven chin.

"Um… Excuse me-," Oliver began, looking slightly up at the man. He had grown a couple of feet since his adventure. Who was he? Why was he in Marcassin's room?

"Wait, Oliver? Is that you," the stranger asked with a familiar voice, grinning with excitement. "You've certainly changed in a year."

"Huh," the wizard asked, taking a half step back, unsure of how this man knew him. He squinted, trying to place the identity. He looks kind of like… Oliver thought, looking into the other person's eyes. They looked tired, almost world-weary for such a well-kept individual.

He opened the door wider to reveal a lanky upright frame adorned with a red tunic, a dark green cape with a magenta stripe at the hem, a wide brown belt, a pair of dark blue pants, and a pair of brown buckled shoes. While neater than it once was, his brown curly hair still fluffed up at the ends, reaching shoulder length. "Oh, don't tell me that you've forgotten," he bitterly remarked while swaying his head back and forth, wounded at the lack of recognition. "It's not like I didn't help you lot save the world." The man leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed and shook his head.

"Swaine," Oliver asked, the gears in his head finally clicking into place.

The prince huffed, glaring at the boy. He couldn't be too mad. A lot happened over the year. For one thing, he had been eating fairly well. He almost didn't recognize Oliver, himself. The hero's boyish features were starting to give way to a young man's- that and he was wearing normal clothes from his world, the traveler's clothes being too small for him, obviously.

He finally shrugged and roped his old friend into a bear hug. "Come here, you!" He tossed the boy's red hair teasingly with one hand, the other gripping his back.

For once, the former thief didn't smell like dirt and motor oil, a smell that he had come to know the man by. It was almost alien. The wizard let out a small laugh when he pulled away, admiring how much Swaine had changed. Without the constant hunch, he seemed a whole foot taller and somehow even more proud than usual. "You look like a real prince! What happened," Oliver asked curiously.

"Well… I'm sort of co-ruler of Hamelin now. My brother doesn't know much about how machines work and let's just say he needs a fresh perspective on the state of the world sometimes." He ran a hand through his brown locks, chuckling. "How it all came to pass is a long story, really. I'll spare you the details," he acquitted, waving his right hand away.

The wizard nodded. He smiled proudly at the newfound royal. "That's really cool," he shouted. He paused, the smile fading a little. He ran his hand through his hair, looking at the floor of the hall. "So… I don't suppose you have any free time to go on an adventure, huh?"

Swaine pressed his left hand to his hip and looked up in thought. "Well…" He placed his right hand on his chin and for a moment, to Oliver, he looked like the thief he had traveled all over the world with. He glanced over at the wizard with a smirk. "I _do_ have to go into town and observe the state of things… I don't suppose it would hurt to have some company."

"But… You said we could go somewhere dangerous," the wizard pouted. He'd been to Hamelin several times over the course of their adventures. The place was as peaceful as could be by comparison to some of the wastelands.

The ruler chuckled wryly, shaking his head once more. "Only those who've never truly explored this kingdom would think it's completely safe," he stated almost sagely. "This place is as full of danger and thrills as Old Smokey or even Nevermore if you pry enough. Besides…" He placed a hand on the kid's shoulder. "You've always wanted to get a closer look at how the city works, haven't you?"

That confident rebellious look the formal prince had in his eye was as alive as ever. His looks and appearance may have changed, but underneath it all was the same underhanded, good-natured thief. Oliver finally accepted the man's invitation with a nod.

Swaine told his friend to wait there for a moment, casually mentioning changing into something less "high-class" as he put it. When he returned, he had dawned a familiar outfit- the old tattered clothes that had seen many a battle. His hair had been tossed about, even to the point of resembling his former self to some extent- only with a full face and a clean shave.

He returned to his slouch, his transformation into a beggar complete. Seeing a sense of eager recognition on his young friend's face, he smirked. "Was this who you were expecting to see," he asked coyly. He began to walk down the hall, only catching a nod from his scouting companion.

A guard was near the inner secret exit of the palace, so no one would catch on. When he saw the hero and the prince approach, he stood at attention. "Going out to check on the citizens, your liege," the guard asked, nodding out of respect. He looked at Oliver and raised an eyebrow.

"What is it," Swaine groaned, eyeing the guard.

"Won't he draw attention to you, Prince Gascon," the guard asked in a hushed whisper, leaning closer to his superior.

The prince shook his head. "I used to travel looking like this all the time with this kid. The only way _anyone_ outside of these walls will ever know is if one of us squeals."

With that, the guard nodded and moved aside, watching the two begin to walk through the tunnel. "Do return safely, sir," he wished, only receiving a silent wave in return.

* * *

The mechanical city of Hamelin was monstrous. Oliver couldn't believe so many buildings could fit into one area. He made sure to follow Swaine closely, trusting the ruler's innate knowledge of the city.

"This place sure is big...," the boy observed as they sat on the steps of a building just next to one of the city's shopping district. They had decided to take a short break from all the walking and talking, the former thief explaining the mechanical aspects that constantly changed the city over time.

The man who sat nonchalantly on the step above him, his hand resting on his knee, nodded in response. "Yeah. You've got to be careful in a place like this. There are people who will do just about anything to get their way here. One of the curses of this blasted mechanical monster I call home," he warned. He looked at the shopping district and noted the type of wares they were selling. Shopping district three… the prince thought, remembering its primary source of income.

He nudged Oliver's shoulder. When he got his attention, he jabbed his right thumb over to the bustling businesses. "Looks like this one sells functioning models and machine parts. Maybe we could check it out."

"Neato," Oliver responded, getting up. Soon, the pair were entering the throng of customers and vendors alike. They kept a keen eye on each other for the most part, enthusing over various models and parts they saw- bonding over their mutual fascination with machinery.

Then… Oliver couldn't find the former thief. He had seemingly vanished. Perhaps he didn't hear him say they were leaving the area to check something else out. He began to panic, forgetting for a moment that he could use magic to travel to a safe location. And when he did… he remembered he had left his wand back at the palace. At least he thought he did. The boy couldn't remember in his frantic state, but he knew he didn't have it on him.

Mentally kicking himself, he ran and ran through the alleyways adjacent to the shopping area, tears of frustration fleeing his eyes. Where is he? He thought, hoping to see a glimpse of that old tattered green jacket. That was the most comforting thought at the moment. That's all he wanted to see.

Finally, tired of running, the boy sat on the ground of one of the many hallways of the mechanical metropolis, his head in his knees. At that point, he just wanted to go home. Sure, he was the hero of the entire world, but what good was he without his wand? There was the creature cage, but unless one of them had the nose of a bloodhound, there was no telling whether he'd get back to the palace at all…

At least I have something to keep me safe, he thought, looking up from his fetal position on the dusty metal ground.

Even as this small consolation began to comfort him, a hand slapped over his mouth, a cloth muffling his terrified scream. He was yanked up as his hands wrapped around an arm much larger than his own two.

"Well," a deep, sinister, and even slimy voice began, it's owner's breath foul smelling. "What do we have here? The savior of the world?"

Oliver struggled, trying to break free from the foul-smelling brute, but to no avail. He heard his captor hush him quietly. That alone made a shiver run up the wizard's spine. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you… yet," he greedily snarled. "I'm going to take you with me and keep you locked up… I bet the rulers of Hamelin- nay! The rulers of all the kingdoms would pay a hefty amount for your safe return."

He heard the fiend chuckle and breath into his ear sarcastically, "Oh great and powerful savior."

The wizard whimpered in fear. He couldn't focus. He couldn't clearly command his familiars to come out. He sensed the other arm of the brute rise, fist clenched, ready to knock him out with one blow.

A bright light blinded them both, suddenly. Oliver felt his captor release him as a gust of air brushed by. He scrambled away, but fell in his haste, facing the direction of his hostage taker. When the light cleared, the boy, to his joy, saw a familiar well worn, green jacket.

"S-Swaine," he called out, relieved to see the thief standing guard over him. He took in the sight further. His gun was drawn. He had Vemahl, the Aye-Aye Sir, out at his side, its tail twitching in anger and agitation. Blood dripped from the man's left fist.

"Oliver," Swaine asked in a calm rage. "Are you okay?" Even as he asked this, he only made eye contact with the musclebound, grime-covered criminal. He found it hard to accept that this type of ilk lived in the very city he ruled, despite his own past. Hero or no, Oliver was still just a kid. It made his stomach turn.

The wizard nodded as he rushed to his feet, regaining his focus once again. He began to call on his familiars.

A sleeve adorned arm halted him. "Allow me to take care of this," his friend protectively warned, staring down disgustedly the thug. There was no need for familiars for such a pathetic man. The emperor even withdrew the lemur at his feet, it's job done well.

The brute holding his busted jaw looked up at the disguised prince from his meager position. "Jusht who do you thrink you are," he asked angrily, though muffled from the damage. "This kid'sh bodyguard?!"

Swaine pressed his Highwayman's Handgun to the ruffian's head. "Listen here. You'll leave this kid alone from now on, got it?" He seemed to push the brute back with the threat of a gun. "If I ever see you lay your hands on him again, this gun will be the last thing you ever see." He paused. "Do I make myself clear," the former thief snarled coldly.

The thug, trembling at the threat on his life, turned around and ran off into the maze of alleyways, frantically escaping the lanky royal.

A sigh escaped the older man as he slowly lowered his gun. He turned to his young friend, frowning. "Y'know…," he began, shrugging.

"When I said this place was dangerous, I was hoping we'd get into trouble with some giant mechanical monster cooked up by Hamelin's engineering division. Not nearly get ourselves kidnapped," he quipped, holding his hands out almost openly, his right still loosely holding the gun.

Oliver gratefully looked up at the prince. "I- Swaine, I'm sorry- I didn't mean," he began to stammer, tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes. "I panicked- I should have stayed in the shopping district- I didn't have my wand," he continued, still shaken up by the whole ordeal.

After replacing his gun into the holster on his belt, Swaine held out the wand, Astra, to the boy. Rubbing the back of his head, the thief informed, "Yeah, you kind of dropped this. I turned around to get it, but you were gone when I returned."

"Huh?" Oliver looked dumbfounded at the wand, taking it. He shook his head, looking down. "I-I'm sorry… I should have been more careful." He began to sob, disappointed in himself, clutching Astra.

For a moment, Swaine looked away from the sight. He hated seeing the kid cry- even worse, he hated seeing him hurt. Finally, he pulled the boy into a comforting embrace. Dammit, I'd die for this kid… he realized, still attempting to sooth the distraught teen. "It's alright, Oliver…"

The wizard shook his head, rubbing against the man's chest occasionally. "I-it's not," he argued. "Y-you shouldn't h-have to save m-me," he continued. "I sh-should be stronger than this."

"Hey, kiddo," the former thief began, placing a hand on Oliver's head. "Listen, we all have our off days. No need to get your knickers in a twist about it." He grabbed the boy's shoulders and put himself at a distance but didn't let go. He smiled at his friend reassuringly. "Hey, look at me," Swaine gently coaxed.

The wizard, hesitantly, looked up, still shaking.

"I'm not going to let you down. Not ever. You're way too precious to turn a blind eye to," the former prince admitted, almost moved to tears himself. It was his turn to be hugged as Oliver wrapped his arms around him, wand in hand.

"Swaine," Oliver asked after a moment or two, having calmed down quite a bit.

"Hmm?"

"'Love you," the wizard admitted, gripping the man tighter.

A chuckle escaped the prince and he tossed the kid's hair fondly. "Heh. Love you, too, kid." He coughed, remembering that they were still in an alley. The thought of what people would think slipped into his head. "But we should probably get out of here," he suggested as he pulled away, turning his back to his friend. "We'll get some ice cream. My treat."

And so, they did, heading back to the palace afterward. For old times' sake, the two managed to persuade the guards to release a Porco Grosso tank into the main hall for them to fight- reliving the thrill of facing the porcine armament for the first time.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Welcome back. Just want to say, no. I don't "pair" Swaine and Oliver together. Sorry if you got that impression. It was something I worried about writing this one.**

 **I've always kind of put the thief in the role of a dedicated older brother or even father figure, especially since Oliver doesn't have a dad. In all honesty, Swaine _is_ old enough to be the kid's father when you meet him in Castaway Cove. He doesn't look it, but he ain't exactly a teen himself. A lot of people guess he's in his early thirties, late twenties, too. If Oliver is 10 or in his tween years in the game, there you have it. **

**Either way, after all the stuff they've been through, they'd have to have a pretty tight bond.**

 ** _Edit: I fixed up the last bit a little. I hope the changes are welcome!_**

 **Hope you enjoyed. Do review.**


	11. A Soul and The Sea

**Author's Note:**

 **Oh, geez. I've done it now. I wrote the longest in the series… I don't want to scare you with how long. Just enjoy the madness. Kind of. Not really.**

 **We'll be exploring one of the possible ideas of who Swaine's soulmate is (as well as a few other's but Swaine's the main target). I really wish we knew. Oh well.**

 **Thank you all who have commented or reviewed my mess of a series. Thank you all who have favorited! There are so many now! I especially would love to give a shout out to moonbird and her story, "Return of the Porcine Prince". Thank you for the inspiration! (She may be the reason I so ambitiously wrote such a long one-shot now. Sorry.)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the fish. I don't own the sky. I don't own you. I just own my soul. (I'm sorry. Waxing a bit philosophically, there aren't I?)**

~.~.~

An old man sat on the bank of the river that ran right through the quiet small town of Motorville. For as long as he could remember, he had loved to come out and fish. It allowed him to get away, to escape the drama and hardships of life, even if for a couple of hours. Occasionally he would see people walk down to the river to watch the fish. To them, he would smile, thankful that they had decided to stop and observe nature with him, whether they realized he was there or not.

He was a lonely sort, the fisherman. No one dared to talk to him, these days. No one dared talk to the old man who went mad a year or so ago, going on about dreams and visions he had. He had tried to stop himself. He had tried to keep his mouth shut. He just couldn't help it. The fantastic things that came to mind were just too good to keep to himself.

After all the ridicule, though, he found peace in nature. Nothing judged him here. I wish my sons were here, he contemplated, staring into the water. He took note of the short grey beard and mustache he had grown over the years and an old ragged cap that sat atop short greying hair. Oh, Jake… I remember those days, fishin' with your old man, he mused.

When he finally looked up he beheld the sight of a young red-head with a determined look, his lips pursed, his eyes focused. The old man raised an eyebrow, still waiting for a bite on his line. Suddenly, the boy took off into the water, aiming for the deepest part of the river.

The fisherman watched from the shore, curious about the odd behavior. Not many people would think to swim in the stream. Then again, not many people fished here, either.

To his horror, the boy started to thrash about, barely able to stay afloat. Abandoning his fishing rod, the once idle elder ran into the river, eventually diving after the distressed youth. He managed to get to him before he went under.

"Easy, now," he guided, pulling the kid closer to shore. When they could both stand, the older man pressed his hands to his hips, glaring at the boy. His eyes, though harsh, showed a hint of worry. "Just what the hell did you think you were doin', sonny," he snapped.

"I…," the boy began. "I was trying to teach myself how to swim." He looked down at the clear surface of the water.

The fisherman threw his left hand up. "Well, ya didn't have to go so deep! Ever heard of baby steps?!" He shook his head, his arm now back by his side.

The boy winced before looking up at the old man. He noticed he wore a grey plaid long sleeve shirt and a pair of blue-jean overalls. He had a tan, though slightly pale from the recent scare. He seemed thin and his skin openly displayed his age, the numerous small scars, and wrinkles from a long productive life. His eyes looked tired as a result.

"I- Err…," the boy faltered. "I'm sorry to worry you, mister. I'll remember that next time...," he politely apologized, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Thank you for saving me."

The man slouched and swayed, looking to his rod and reel. He looked at the boy again and sighed. He shook his head again before returning to his fishing equipment. "Don't get yourself killed, ya hear," he warned.

For the rest of the late morning and early afternoon, the fisherman warily returned to his hobby. He had been keeping an eye on the boy who had thankfully stayed in the shallows. He seemed to be practicing his ability to tread water by tucking his legs in a little to simulate it. He saw the child occasionally stand when he didn't feel sure.

"Hey, kid," he called, pulling a soda contained in a glass bottle from the cooler he kept his lunch in. "Do you wanna take a break? Maybe grab a drink?"

The boy looked over at the man offering refreshments. All conventions of society warned against accepting food from him. Though, the man _did_ just save him from drowning. Shrugging, the young teen walked to shore. He figured he owed the elderly man at least some company for his trouble.

He sat down next to the fisherman who had propped his fishing pole in his tackle box. "Thank you, sir." He took the bottled drink and opened it, taking a sip.

Likewise, the fisherman had his own bottle of soda, resting his arm on one knee. "So…," he began. "Why'd you want to learn how to swim so bad," he curiously asked.

The boy looked at the elderly man with a sad smile. "I… I lost my mom here. I couldn't really swim then either," he recalled. "I mean, one time… I kind of did, but my feet could kind of touch the bottom of the lake," he corrected thinking of an experience unknown to the man.

"Ah… Sorry 'bout that, kid. I can understand your pain a bit, there. I lost my eldest son, Jake, to some sort of heart condition years back. My youngest is all I got for family," the old man claimed, looking down.

The boy sat in mild contemplation. "At least you have someone to lean on, right," he finally asked. To his shock, the man solemnly shook his head.

"My youngest is a big shot artist in the city. Real prim and proper, but also a bit of a show-off." He sighed, letting out a wry chuckle. "At least that's what people say. He's a real sweet gentleman. Just kind of proud."

Before the boy could respond, the fishing rod jerked to life, nearly falling out of the man's tackle box.

The man leaped to his feet enthusiastically, grabbing the rod. "Got a live one!" He motioned to the kid to move out of the way. "Step aside," he coolly advised as he began to rhythmically pull on the instrument, winding the handle on the reel when he felt the need.

"You caught something," the red-head asked excitedly from a few feet back.

The elder nodded, gritting his teeth as he strained. "Yeah, and it's a real fighter," he strained, pulling harder and harder on the pole. He suddenly felt hands around his waist and glanced back.

"Let me help you," came an eager youthful call. The fisherman nodded gratefully and he began to step back with his helper.

Suddenly, the pole straightened and then wobbled, a giant shimmering fish flying out of the water. They fell back, the kid releasing the old man just enough so he wouldn't be trapped under him. They sat in awe as the fish majestically landed line and all on the ground and to the left of the odd pair.

He laughed boisterously as he picked the flopping fish up, removing the hook, and held it by its mouth. He turned to the boy and flashed a wide, pleased smile as he showed off their catch.

"What a fish," The fisherman cried happily. He walked over to the other cooler and placed it inside. "What a fish, indeed." He rinsed his hands in the lake and dried them on his overalls. He gave a hardy slap on the back to the kid. "Thanks, boyo! I wouldn't've been able to catch it if it weren't for you, let me tell you!"

"Haha," the kid laughed. "You're welcome, mister…"

"Eldon." He reached out a hand to both help him up and shake his new friend's hand.

"Oliver," the boy introduced as he accepted his elder's offer, giving a firm handshake when he was up.

"Pleased to meet you, Oliver…"

* * *

Over the next month, Oliver made it a routine to check in with Eldon after school. He always packed an extra fruit for him to eat as he fished. On days when it was raining, or about to rain, he simply hoped the old man was okay.

Eventually, though, this peace didn't last. Miss Leila eventually found out through the town gossip. She'd wondered why Oliver had taken such a newfound interest in fruit.

It wasn't that the young boy didn't want anyone to know, he just didn't tell anyone.

"Oliver, sweetie, can I talk to you for a second," she asked before he left for school, drying her hands from the breakfast dishes on her apron. The youth nodded respectfully and paused at the door. She approached him and looked down with a kind smile.

"I know you've been going out to see that man by the river. I know you're concerned about him, but he really isn't safe to be around," she explained as nicely as she could. "He… He's kind of unstable. He lost a lot of his family years ago and…," she paused, looking for a delicate way to put it. "He started acting strangely about a year after." She sighed sadly. She noticed the confused look on Oliver's face. "Look, I know you want to help, honey, but please- for me- can you stay away from him?"

Oliver looked down in the fretful confrontation. Eldon seemed pretty kind and peaceful to him. He always was open for a good chat. He had some pretty good advice most of the time. At one point he even showed the kid how to rig up a fishing pole and even cast it. All in all, the old fisherman was a good friend.

But if miss Leila of all people didn't trust him…

He shook his head and looked up. "How'd he act weird," he asked.

She looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, composing herself. "I'm sorry, honey. He's not all there." She closed her eyes and placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Please, just leave him alone. I promised your mother I'd try my best to keep you safe."

Oliver finally, reluctantly, nodded with a worried look. She pulled him into a loving embrace and sent him on his way to his studies.

Who was going to be there for the old man? He had no one close for him to talk to. The boy realized that, despite her best intentions, the kind shopkeeper's request did more harm than good. Eldon needed a friend. He needed someone to keep him stable if he really was as miss Leila said he was.

* * *

On a bright sunny day, Oliver had decided to try his hand at swimming again. He was going to swim far away from the old man so he wouldn't see him. He didn't want to crush the elder's spirit. As he approached, though, he noticed the fisherman wasn't in his usual spot near the bridge.

Something in the young wizard's gut screamed at him. He rushed back to his house. He put on a pair of brown pants and a white grid patterned shirt and hastily stuffed it in. Grabbing the spell tome and the elegant wand, Astra, he cast Gateway: the bridge between worlds.

Something wasn't right. Without thinking, he forgot he had traveled from the capital of the Pig Iron Empire. He forgot he had done so right in front of the Porcine Palace gates.

"Halt- Wait… The savior," one of the guards stammered when he realized who the red-head was. "Wha- How did you know about the state of Emperor Gascon," he questioned.

Oliver's eyes widened at what he heard. He did halt, but it wasn't out of orders from the brown-haired guard dressed in formal but flexible armor- a change since the half done pig suits the wizard had encountered a year ago.

"What about Emperor Gascon? What's wrong," the boy quickly asked.

"He- he's been stuck in his room for days. He's stopped patrolling the city."

"And he's been complaining about his chest. He keeps saying it aches," the other guard chimed in. They both looked pale as they exchanged glances.

"Please, if anyone can help him, it's you, pure-hearted one," the guard that originally spoke addressed, nodding.

The wizard determinably nodded and bolted past the guards and into the innermost section of the palace. Just on the other side of the hallway of the Great Sage Marcassin's room was Emperor Gascon's room.

He approached the pink doors and knocked. He heard a pained groan from the inside. "S-Swaine? It's me, Oliver…," he greeted from behind closed doors. He heard the former thief stumble and shift.

The doors opened to reveal a tired looking ruler wearing a gold shirt and dark blue pants- an outfit the young savior knew him to wear only in Castaway Cove. Hair that may have once been neatly combed disheveled and his clean-shaven face pale. He was slouching from the pain of whatever afflicted him. He almost looked sick to his stomach. He leaned against the door he had just opened, staring down at his friend. "Now's not a good time to visit, Oliver," he complained groggily, holding a hand to his chest.

"You look awful," the boy gasped as he leaned forward. "Are you sick?"

A slow shake of the head and wince was his response. "The physicians say that I'm as fit as ever… Marcassin doesn't know what it is either." He winced again, gasping for air. He let himself fall to the ground. "It _hurts_ Oliver…," he wheezed, rolling his head to at least look at his friend.

Oliver didn't hesitate. He walked to the emperor and placed a hand on his chest. It was hot, like the man's very soul was on fire. The wizard closed his eyes and cast a healing spell. He heard a sigh of relief and all tension from his friend's body released.

"Thank you… but it won't be enough. It'll return," Swaine warned, the pain he previously had seeping into his words.

Oliver stepped back, watching the emperor catch his breath. Regardless of the temporary fix, he still looked pale. Even if he wasn't in pain, he was still getting weaker and weaker. He closed his eyes, trying to think of a solution. Is it his soulmate that's causing this…? The hero thought.

There had to be someone in their world that looked or sounded like the thief. He looked at Swaine and studied his face. Perhaps it was related to Eldon's disappearance?

His eyes widened. The tired look in Eldon's eyes- he had seen it before. He was an expert fisherman and could catch anything with his trusty fishing pole. Just a bit of tackle here, a knot there, some top-quality bait, and the old man was set to nab a fish right out of the water.

Not unlike the emperor thief and his trick-shot pistols…

Oliver shook Swaine, alerting him. "I think I know what's wrong."

* * *

The wizard and the emperor thief had traveled back to Motorville. Oliver had to support him half of the time they walked. The pain had returned and with a vengeance. Every other moment, Oliver heard him hiss in the air as his chest continued to ache.

"That poor man. He's got no one to take care of him," a woman empathized. For a moment, the two thought they could see the grimacing, shivering royal.

"The town crazy? Really," a man responded from the other side of the fence.

The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't say that if you knew what led him down that road. One of his sons _died._ His parents have been gone for years. I'd probably go a little crazy, too!" The woman nodded. "I think I'll stop and see him. I'll bring him some medicine," the lady recalled.

"Oliver," Swaine seethed, shaking, addressing the arguing two.

The boy nodded and walked up to the pair. "'Scuse me, ma'am," he interjected. "But could you tell me where he lives? I'd like to check up on him, too."

"Oh, if it isn't Oliver! Such a sweet caring boy, you are," the lady beamed. She then nodded at him. "Yes, last house near the bridge heading out of town. Can't miss it."

Oliver nodded firmly and thanked his neighbor. He waved and turned around and walked past Swaine who slowly began to follow after.

"So this man…," his friend started. "You believe he's my soulmate?"

"Well, he's not well. If he's dying, it would explain some things," the wizard observed, slowing his pace so the pained man could keep up. It hurt to have to do that. The thief was always quick to keep close to the other three. There usually wasn't much of a gap.

But this… whatever it was. It seemed to drag the man down.

They found the house. It was a small, but a neat one-story house. The yard had patches of dirt exposed, but the grass was trimmed. The exterior had seen better days, it seemed, but the porch was organized well. It even had a rocking chair.

"What's this," Swaine asked as he peered into a bucket. It contained a bunch of dismantled reels and parts. This made him raise an eyebrow. "Someone's got a hobby," he remarked with a weak smirk.

Oliver knocked on the door. A weak, "Who's there?" was the response he received. "It's Oliver," the wizard called.

Silence prevailed for a moment. The two waited with baited breath.

"Come in," the tired voice called, followed by a violent coughing fit.

"He really _is_ dying," the former thief commented, wincing suddenly. "Oliver… we have to do something…"

The wizard gave a determined nod and opened the door. They went through a hall with wood paneling as its design. A small table sat against the left wall of the corridor with three pictures.

The two stopped in front of the pictures and observed them. The people in them were from another time in the man's life. The ones to the side had to have been his sons, Jake and Liam. Liam was easily spotted, he had paint splattered all over his face and short black hair. He seemed to be laughing at his own mess with sparkling eyes.

"He…," Swaine began, smiling fondly at the picture while leaning against the far wall. "He reminds me of Marcassin… Wonder what he got up to."

"He's a famous artist," Oliver cheered, beginning to look at Jake's picture.

That made the royal chuckle. "An artist. Of course! Even here, we're just the opposite."

Jake's showed strong and noble a police officer with a square jaw. His eyes were hard and determined. His dark brown hair was styled like a military officer's. On the badge in the photo, Oliver made out the word, "Sheriff". He looked like a man who took the law seriously.

"He looks kind of familiar," Oliver noted, picking up the photo and showing it to his friend. "He's dead now, but I feel like we've met."

"Maybe his soulmate… I don't know…," Swaine thought aloud. They really needed to get moving. The pain was getting worse, though he tried his best to hide it. He took a closer look at the man in the photo. His eyes widened and he took it from Oliver, forgetting his weakness for a moment. "You _have_ met his soulmate! Th-that face! He looks just like- Oh that's rich," he stammered then laughed. "Hah! The Emperor of Hamelin, my father, was my soulmate's son! How odd is that?!"

He laughed boisterously for a moment before another pang of pain shot through him. He doubled over, his left hand beginning to lose grip on the picture.

The boy took the picture and put it back. He turned to look at Swaine who had sunk to the floor. The emperor hissed in pain, the strength of it forcing his eyes shut. When it finally subsided enough, he looked up at Oliver, tears in his eyes. "Why...," Swaine whimpered. "Why does it hurt so much? Tell me, Oliver." The former thief held his own shoulders. A chill seemed to run through him and he shivered. "I- I don't want to die…,"

Oliver kneeled down to meet his friend's eyes. The kid studied the man's brown eyes, looking for some sort of explanation- anything to ease his emotional pain. Despite how pale he looked, there was a stubborn fire in them that flickered.

Gascon "Swaine", Emperor of Hamelin and the Pig Iron Empire, wasn't ready to go. He wasn't ready to give in to death just yet, the boy realized. That's where the conflict was. That's where the immense pain, stemmed from. He looked towards the room at the end of the hall, then back at the royal.

"We'll fix this," Oliver nodded, pressing a hand to Swaine's chest, giving him another dose of healing magic. It was just enough to ebb the pain this time. He got up and held a hand out to the weak royal.

Nodding weakly, but with a resolute face, the older man grabbed his hand and pulled himself up. He almost fell but was caught by Oliver. Despite his tenacity, his body seemed heavy and unstable.

The two walked into the room to find a man lying in a bed covered up in cream sheets looking just as pale as the former thief. He turned his attention to Oliver. "Ah, if it isn't the river boy," he joked in a forced whisper.

"Eldon," Oliver nodded, concerned for the man. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I stopped coming to keep you company. I wanted to but- but-," he apologized frantically, cut off by a bony reassuring hand resting on the kid's cheek.

"It's alright. I figured whoever's watchin' over you had found out. It's not your fault, kiddo," he weakly reassured. He coughed violently again.

Swaine had sat in a large comfortable chair, leaning back in it, and watched the two. He's considered an outcast? He thought. He saw another photo of the man on the table next to him. It was a picture of him and his two boys on a fishing trip.

In the photo, he had a kind smile, hugging both the younger Jake and Liam. Eldon's beard hadn't started to take over his jaw yet, for it was still a brown goatee. His mustache was still sparse compared to the bushy mustache the old man sported now. It was there, the royal saw the resemblance in the fishing hat adorned man.

How the hell? How in the flying hell did this man get such a bad reputation? Swaine thought, confused. He looked back at the ailing figure in the bed Oliver kept company.

"Did I ever tell ya about a world I dreamed about one day," Eldon deliriously asked the boy. "It was a world like no other… Heck, it's what got me branded as the town crazy," he acknowledged.

"Huh," Oliver asked, leaning in. "You dreamed of another world?"

The old man nodded, smiling before coughing again. "Another world. Specifically a giant machine city. It all seemed so real. I dreamed I was a prince… then a brazen thief…" He sighed, looking away to the wall.

The former thief's attention snapped up. It was no wonder the house felt so comfortable to him. He had dreamed of this place himself. It seemed so ordinary, though, that he didn't say anything about it. They had crossed paths without even realizing it.

Eldon chuckled quietly to himself. His eyes shifted to Oliver. "I wouldn't be surprised if you thought I was crazy, too. A world like that could never exist."

The boy grabbed the man's hand firmly with both of his own. He looked into his eyes. "But it does. You aren't crazy!" He shook his head, tears beginning to form from sheer determination. "It's all real. The city, the prince- the thief you dreamed about, all of it!" He looked Eldon directly in the eye.

The old man shook his head. "Don't pity me, boy. Even you don't believe a dying seventy year-," he stopped short when the wizard vigorously shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I've seen it! The machine city! It's called Hamelin! I…," he looked down, tears beginning to fall, this time out of desperation. "I want to take you… I- I want you to see it… I want you to meet him- the thief. He's a good friend of mine."

The elderly man looked at the boy for a long while. Never had anyone believed him about the other world he once saw? Everyone wrote it off as a sad grief-stricken man escaping from his trauma. They began to think otherwise when he continued his insane ramblings through the next year. He was the town mad-man. He was the one, despite being a loving father himself, parents told to steer clear. Innocent ignorance was all it was.

Oliver didn't care, to him. He wouldn't be there, at his possible deathbed if he did. Did this kid really see this other world- who knew, but he sure seemed confident in his beliefs.

"You really believe it's real, don't ya," Eldon asked quietly.

"How much more convincing do you need," Swaine finally snapped from the oversized chair, forgetting he couldn't be heard. "Honestly…," he scoffed, before wincing slightly.

To the former thief's shock, the older man nodded in response with a faint smile. "I'll try to hang on, just a little longer, then… I want to see your proof, Oliver. Promise me that," the fisherman asked weakly.

Oliver, choking up, nodded, smiling. "I promise." He smiled at Eldon. "You'll love it!"

The royal suddenly stood up, patting himself with a rather confused expression. "The pain… It's gone," he found before looking over at the hero.

The kid looked over at Swaine, smiling. "He just needed a reason to keep going, that's all," he explained, simply.

"Who the heck are ya talkin' to, sonny?" The old man raised an eyebrow.

"I- err. No one…," Oliver corrected, returning his attention to Eldon with a smirk.

* * *

The fisherman finally got better. The wizard insisted on getting him to a hospital for his sickness that day.

Not too long after, Oliver finally decided to honor his promise. He walked to the river and saw a familiar figure sitting on its shore, fishing pole in hand.

"You ready to see it, Eldon," the wizard asked.

"See what…? Oh, yeah. You did promise me," the older man replied, rubbing the back of his head. He pulled his line in and packed his gear. He headed home to drop it off and in about ten minutes the old man returned. "How are we going to get there?"

"Like this," Oliver shouted, already drawing the Gateway symbol. He transported them both to the hall of the palace.

Eldon clapped his hand over his mouth, backing up. He looked wide-eyed at the boy. When he finally could get the strength to speak back he had an eager air of excitement and wonder. "All this time? You could do magic," he asked, a nod in reply. He slapped his forehead and laughed. "No wonder you weren't scared of drowning!"

The boy chuckled and grabbed the old man's hand. "C'mon, there's someone I want you to meet!"

They ran through the gilded halls of the Porcine Palace. The fisherman looked around, taking it all in. This isn't a dream? Am I really here? The old man thought, his eyes sparkling with wonder.

They arrived at one of the co-emperors' rooms- Marcassin's, this time. Oliver knocked on the door, listening in. He heard two men talking about innovations they could put into the very city of Hamelin itself.

"I'm surprised the guards haven't tried to kick us out," Eldon whispered, unaware of Oliver's status.

"You don't need to worry. They know me." The boy looked slightly up at the fisherman, smiling and shrugging.

The old man stepped back with a gasp, looking down in shock at his young friend. "Wh- How-," he stammered. Did he know this kid at all?

Oliver knocked again.

"Who goes there," a high and mighty voice he knew all too well call.

"It's Oliver," the wizard answered. "I brought someone to see you."

There was a pause for a moment. "Oh, of course. Come on in, Oliver," the voice welcomed, this time in a gentler tone.

He opened the doors to reveal the two emperors, both rising from a magenta satin upholstered seat.

"Oliver," the shorter black haired one began. "I do believe we are in your debt once again." He stepped closer to the taller man adorned with a green cape and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for helping my brother. I was beginning to fear for his life," the sage admitted.

Oliver scratched the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. "No problem, Marcassin. Anything for a friend."

"F-friend? You…," Eldon stammered, breathless. "You know these fine gentlemen, boy?" He motioned to the two rulers.

"Yeah! Oh!" The kid straightened up, remembering something. "I forgot to introduce you. Eldon, this is Emperor Marcassin and Emperor Gascon of Hamelin. They're good friends of mine," he politely introduced, motioning to each of them respectfully.

Wait… if they're royalty- Oh, god. The fishermen thought before suddenly dropping to his knees. "I am pleased to meet you, your majesties- Holinesses? Erm… Highnesses?" He glared at Oliver. "Bow, boy! You're in front of royalty."

"Why should he," Gascon asked. "He's my friend. And if anything, we should be the ones bowing to him. He _did_ save our world after all," the former thief informed coyly, eyeing the old man.

That made the fisherman's eyes widen further. He looked up from his position to meet the lanky royal's eyes. S-saved the world? This kid? He looked over to Oliver who just casually stood there. "You saved _this_ world? How in the- You're so young!"

The wizard laughed and motioned to the rulers. "I didn't do it on my own. I had help from a lot of people who had my back. I don't think I could have done it without them!"

He looked back at the rulers, specifically Gascon. Why he's the spitting image of me when I was thirty! God, did I ever look so young? He thought. He then noticed the ever-growing annoyed look on the co-emperor's face.

"Will you bloody stand up already? It's awkward talking to someone on the floor," he snapped, letting the rugged thief side of him show.

Eldon bolted up, a slight bit of anger on his face. "What kind of ruler talks like that? I always thought they were supposed to be classy and respectful."

Marcassin shook his head closing his eyes for a moment and shrugging. "Excuse Gascon. He can be a bit rough sometimes with his words. It comes from his life as a commoner and thief."

The fisherman blinked for a moment, looking at the sage and then at the older brother. He then shakily pointed at the former thief. "Y-you're the-!"

"The prince and the thief you dreamed of being," Gascon finished, smirking again at his soulmate. "Yeah. That's me." He groaned and put his hands on his hips, looking down. "You gave us all quite a scare, you know. I thought I was going to die. Good thing Oliver talked you out of it and got you some help."

"Yeah, now I'm fit as a- Wait! What?! You were there?! How the- It's one thing after another with this place, isn't it?" The old man gripped the sides of his head. "Why couldn't I see you then? What's the deal?"

"The deal is that Oliver promised you something and he delivered. He always delivers cause that's just the kind of kid he is," was Gascon's response, a hint of a smile on the corner of his lips. "The only issue now is, what are we going to do? If you go and die on us what happens, then?"

"I don't think it was him dying that made your soul react that way," Oliver noted, pensively. He pointed to Gascon. "I think it was the fact that they were out of sync. Eldon's pretty proud of himself, just like you are, Swaine. He's great at what he knows he can do. When he lost hope in himself when he was ill and the hope anyone would ever trust him again, it caused a major conflict with your soul."

"Huh," Eldon asked, looking at Oliver and then Gascon, confused about everything the boy just said.

"What he's saying is that you need to take care of yourself, Eldon. You need to keep hope alive," Marcassin encouraged, approaching him. "You can do that, at least, can't you?"

The fisherman nodded, a shy grin on his face. He rubbed the back of his head. "If it means Oliver won't worry, then I'll do my damnedest." He half bowed to the younger brother. "You have my word, your honor."

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Well, then… That got a bit cheesy there at the end… Heh. I always wondered what it would be like if any of the normal world people met their soulmates and could actually talk to them. If Oliver gets to do it, why can't they?**

 **I tried to make my OC, Eldon, believable. I didn't want him coming off as a cardboard cutout.**

 **As for the logic of how that all works with soulmates… I actually don't really know myself. While the game gives us some basis for understanding. Though, with it being kind of open-ended on what happens with the connection, it's pretty easy to exploit as a fanfiction writer.**


	12. A Soul and The Sea: Pt 2

**Author's Note:**

 **Hey, guys! So interesting thing. I decided to write more about Eldon. This is one of those few times when a drabble here gets turned into a two-chapter piece. Yay. So, here we go!**

 **Shout out to people who support this fic, 'specially moonbird. She keeps giving me ideas by accident. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Swaine (though we have similar personality traits sometimes). I don't own the rights to this game. I own Eldon... Kind of. I like him. He grew on me.**

~.~.~

Two emperors sat in the chamber of the youngest. That gilded room, complete with plush chairs, dark teal curtains, bookshelves at the very back, the finest coffee and end tables, and a large magenta satin "throne" that most would call a fancy sofa, had seen so much and was now the site of where two brothers spent much of their time.

The entirety of their daily lives revolved around kingly and sagely duties. Only when absolutely necessary did one or the other leave the palace. It was enough to make one go stir crazy.

The discussion now? Air quality. It was an issue among much of the Hamelin citizens. The city's filters were changed out monthly, but that still didn't help the smog. So here they plotted and planned, poring over blueprints and schematics to siphon off the smoke and steam released into the city.

The older emperor yawned, leaning back, and stretching, the action reflexively shutting his eyes. He leaned forward with a listless look, frowning while resting his head in his palm. He braced his arm on his knee.

"Something wrong," the younger emperor asked, lifting his head to acknowledge his brother. When he didn't receive an answer, he shook him with a tunic sheathed hand, the older man's head toppled from its perch.

"Huh," he snorted looking up blearily at the sage. "What happened?"

"You were dozing. Are you really that tired, brother," the black-haired man concernedly addressed.

The older brother shook his head. "Just a little… Well… I could use some fresh air- away from here." He looked at the man next to him with a small smile. He leaned forward, looking down at the plans again.

The sage nodded, chuckling. "It does get rather mundane around here, doesn't it?"

A bright beam of light shown in front of them. There stood a boy with red hair wearing a white shirt and black pants, his wand in his belt and a confident smile on his face. "Swaine, Marcassin! Someone wanted to see you guys," he informed.

Next to him was an old man in a red and green plaid shirt with dark grey overalls, a pair of old beige boots, and a scruffy beige hat. His short-haired grey beard and mustache had taken over his jaw. He stood proud, a wide grin on his face and a hopeful glimmer in his eye. He bowed courteously. "Good day, your majesties. I apologize for the intrusion."

It took a moment for them to recall who the elderly man was. People would arrange meetings with them for various reasons, whether it be business propositions or requests for aid. It became very easy to forget who had come through already. The way he stood, though, was very familiar.

"…Eldon," the brown-haired prince asked, leaning forward. Eyes widening in recognition of those all too similar features only a soulmate could have, he stood, his green cape swallowing his tall and lanky form. "It is! Ha! Oh, it's great to see you again," he cheered, walking up to the old man grinning from ear to ear. "How's fishing going?"

A wise chuckle escaped the old man as he shook his head. "Oh, it's fine. Always gives me a sense of purpose…," he reflected. He grabbed the boy to the left of him by the shoulder and shook him gently, causing the youth to laugh. "But thanks to you and Oliver, here, I've got a new goal." He paused for a second and then grinned, "Here's a life tip for ya, your majesty, always have a goal for something, even if it's just getting up in the mornin'."

The emperor thief rolled his eyes with a sly smirk, accepting the sound advice. He put his hands on his hips nonchalantly. "So, what's this new goal," he asked.

"I would like to hear it, too. Surely, you've found something to help keep your spirits up, I hope," Marcassin, the younger emperor, interjected as he rose from the seat.

"The goal is to get the town to like him again," Oliver announced, looking up at the fisherman.

For a moment, an uncertain look crossed the lanky royal's face. He looked at his brother who was also in slight shock. Then came the laughter. "Oh, that is so like you, Oliver. No, really!" He smiled at the two, still chuckling. "That'll be quite a feat, you know. It isn't exactly fighting Nightmares and enraged forest guardians. Hell, it's not even mending broken hearts."

"I got no earthly clue what you're going on about, sir, but we can at least try," Eldon argued, a sour look on his face. He eyed his soulmate bitterly.

The younger brother stepped forward. "Yes, at least. You need friendship most of all. Brother has told me how you live alone, how you live as an outcast in your own town. He isn't mocking you…" He considered his words for a moment. "He knows more than anyone how steep a path you'll be traveling, Mr. Eldon," the sage informed, joining his brother in front of the two. He smiled at them both, acknowledging the unsure look on Oliver's face and the slightly disappointed frown on the old man's. He placed a hand on Eldon's shoulder. "Though, I know without a doubt, my brother's soulmate should be just as stubborn."

"'Eldon' is fine, your majesty," the old man politely informed.

"Well, then. Friends usually call me 'Swaine'," the older emperor corrected.

That threw Eldon for a loop. He had let go of Oliver by this point and stumbled forward at the new information. "'Swaine'? But your name is-," he started, pointing at the lanky royal.

"Emperor Gascon of Hamelin? Yeah, barring my brother, Marcassin, I really do prefer when my friends call me Swaine. It's simpler and rolls off the tongue easier," he admitted, shrugging with a knowing smirk.

The young sage chuckled. "And I wouldn't mind if you did call me by my actual name. We're in good company, are we not?"

The old man blinked for a moment, letting how lax the two emperors were with their formality sink in. "Good god… You two aren't quite what I expected rulers to be like at all. So relaxed about your status. You're… You're almost…"

A laugh escaped Swaine and he eyed Eldon once again. "Human? Like everyday people? We've helped save the world, but at the end of the day… We're still just as fallible as an average citizen. We're not perfect, Eldon." He leaned back, arms crossed nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side. He seemed kind of neutral, almost. An authority figure with the attitude of an ordinary man.

The fisherman looked down and shook his head with a humble smile. He lifted his gaze. "Well, I suppose you've taught me a thing or two, huh?"

"Well, you learn a thing or two when you-," Swaine began to say.

"-When you've seen a thing or two? That's an old chestnut," Eldon finished, a loud bout of laughter escaping him. He held his chest and found his look-alike laughing with him, an unsheathed hand placed on the elder's right shoulder.

Marcassin now stood next to Oliver, watching the pair now in front of them. "Never before have I seen such an even match," he told the hero next to him. "They really are soulmates, aren't they?"

The savior chuckled lightly. "Heh, yeah. It _is_ kind of weird how different they are in age, but they both have a lot in common…" He placed a hand on his chin in thought. "Then again… Kublai's _is_ a dog."

"So," the younger ruler began, shifting the conversation. "What really brings you and Eldon? There must be more than just friendly conversation? Did he wish to see more of Hamelin? Our world?"

"On the contrary," Eldon responded suddenly, still grinning as he turned his head slightly to address Marcassin as well as his counterpart. "I came here to ask your brother if he'd mind joining me for an afternoon of fishing."

"I'd love to learn," the lanky emperor exclaimed, thrilled. The enthusiasm on his face faded suddenly. "Only, I don't think I can just drop my royal duties…," Swaine admitted, rubbing the back of his head, frowning.

The sage shook his head with a pitiful smile. "Gascon, it's alright… You've had this listless air about you for a while, now. I think Hamelin can survive an afternoon without you." He nodded, confirming his stance on the issue. "I'll watch over the Empire while you have some time to breath."

"Are-are you sure? There's still so much we haven't covered and-," he began to argue but was swiftly cut off with an emphatic wave of a lavender sheathed arm. His eyes were fixated on the motion, curious at what his brother had to say.

"You cannot work effectively if you cannot allow yourself time to enjoy life!" He looked up at Swaine's bewildered expression, the older emperor's mouth agape. The sage approached him and grabbed both of his arms, looking into his tired brother's eyes. "I ask you to take the day off, Gascon. Accept Eldon's offer, would you?"

Eldon placed a reassuring hand on the lanky royal's left shoulder. "All work and no play make's Swaine a dull boy," he joked.

"Yeah, and I can show you how good my casting is now," Oliver encouraged, almost bouncing up and down out of sheer enthusiasm next to the former thief. "It'll be swell!"

"Alright, alright! I'll take the day off and learn how to fish," Swaine agreed finally, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling. He sighed and chuckled to himself. "You lot are insane, you know?"

* * *

The three appeared in front of the fisherman's small one-story house. It was the same as ever: the white paint fading and flaking from the paneling, the rustic design of the porch, the rocking chair. The royal, dressed in simpler clothes and a tattered green coat, began to wonder if time had passed for any of them. It had been half a year since that fateful day and the place still looked the same.

The old man figured it was because of traveling to that alternate world he could see his counterpart in Motorville, now. He honestly didn't see the need to question it.

Eldon walked to the door and unlocked it. "Just gotta get my fishin' equipment." He opened the door and stood to the side. He motioned towards the interior of his house with one hand. "Come on in! Make yourself at home. This should only take a moment, anyway."

The other two nodded and walked in. More and more details about the old house appeared the more Oliver and Swaine looked. It was amazing how much one could miss in a crisis. On the walls leading to the living area were other pictures of family and friends the fisherman had come to know and love.

A familiar face stood out to the emperor in one picture. "Will," he hesitantly asked, picking out a slightly portly man with his arm around a young Eldon's shoulder. The two were standing in some sort of lot filled with fancier and obviously older vehicles.

"Oh yeah, old teacher of mine! Still around, too," he remarked. "Took me to a motor show with all the latest in automotive innovations at the time!" He seemed to pause from the kitchen where he was filling a cooler with ice. "Wait… How'd you know his name was Will? I never said." The former thief could almost hear him squint in suspicion.

"I actually have a friend by a similar name who looks just like him. He works in getting "hard to obtain" goods, if you know what I mean," Swaine admitted, shrugging. He moved on to the living area.

If there was one thing Eldon and him could disagree on it was his taste. There were a couple of taxidermy fish mounted on his mantle and other parts of the wall. Even the pig theme of Hamelin wasn't as obvious as this man's love for fishing, it seemed. That wasn't the only atrocity committed. The large comfortable chairs were this gold color with pink flowers all over them. The way they were arranged made his eyes hurt, almost. It didn't help that the carpet was an odd shade of green- the kind that awkwardly sat between forest green and a dark shade of gold. The walls, were, thankfully, the most normal part- cream with greyed floral designs running up in a straight vertical line over and over. He turned back to the hallway when he had had enough.

He met the old man in the kitchen. "You've got to do something about that room, Eldon," he teased. "I think I went cross-eyed."

Eldon finally closed the cooler and, with a scoff, he stood up straight. "Like you could try any better, Mr. Swaine. Ye ain't winning any hearts with that outfit," he shot back. He received a sour look, though thankfully ignored. The fisherman checked his fridge, looking for something he needed. "Oh dear. I'm out of ham…" He shut the refrigerator door and walked over to a wooden box just next to the bread box. He opened the lid and peered inside. "Aye, old timer, what are we going to do? Letting thing's slip, we are," the old man muttered to himself. He shut the lid, a disappointed frown on his face.

"What is it," Swaine asked, soon joined by a very enthused red-head going on about how happy he was to see some fish he had helped the old man catch on his wall.

The wizard looked up slightly at the two, hearing the concerned question. "Is something wrong?"

The fisherman shook his head solemnly before looking up, his hands on his hips. "I gotta get bait. I need stale bread and ham for that. Problem is, I just used the last of it preparing our lunch for the day."

"There's a shop in town, right? Wouldn't that have it," Swaine suggested while rubbing the back of his head.

"Yeah," the wizard cheered. "What about Miss Leila's Milk Bar? She always gets some real nice sliced ham in!"

Eldon noticeably grimaced, closing his eyes. "I couldn't. I always hop a bus to the next town over to buy my groceries. Nobody here's gonna serve me, boy."

The gangly royal scowled, crossing his arms. He looked to the cabinets to the left of him. "And you can't use something else," he asked bitterly.

"Ham 'n bread is what the fish like in that river. We're outta luck…," he answered, throwing his hands halfway up in the air. His arms then dangled at his side and he hung his head in defeat. "It takes an hour to get there, more than an hour to walk to the store and shop, and then an hour back. By the time I return-," he began to explain.

"Bull-crap," Swaine snapped, stomping his foot. "No. I won't stand for this. It isn't fair to you- a seventy-year-old man to have to travel so far just to get sustenance for a month. I won't have it, I just won't," he argued, seething. His face contorted into a snarl as he stared the old man down. "I haven't the slightest idea what the hell happened between you and Motorville, but whatever it is shouldn't make them do this to you."

The emperor began to pace, frustrated, in the small kitchen in front of them, wagging a finger. "No, no, no… No. We need to fix this. We need people to care that you exist. You need friends to care if you're ill- to be there for you." He stopped and looked Eldon in the eye.

The older man closed his eyes, a frown still on his face. "I really don't know if I can fix all of the damage I've done…"

"Not all, just some," Oliver interjected. The old man looked up suddenly. "We just need someone to support you other than me. I can help you convince Miss Leila."

"And that's not all," the former thief acknowledged, nodding with a smile. "I remember someone actually sympathizing with you, Eldon. She was going to bring you medicine," he recalled. "You're not completely at a loss, you see."

"Oh, I remember that lady! She's the one who gave me direct-! Are you okay," the wizard asked, stopping short when he noticed Eldon shaking like a leaf.

Tears started flowing from the old man's eyes and the two stepped closer out of concern. "N-no… I'm fine. It's just- I didn't realize there was anyone like that other than you two." He sniffed, rubbing his eyes with his left arm. "I'm actually very happy to hear that someone else thought of me, not that I'm ungrateful," he rasped, looking up and smiling. "I'll definitely have to stop and thank her later."

"Well, you aren't exactly the worst the world has to offer," Swaine reasoned, smirking. "Now how about we get that delicious bait, eh," he encouraged, raising both fists eagerly.

* * *

They stood in front of the door of the Milk Bar. Many people had already taken notice of Oliver and Eldon and some even began to whisper among themselves. The old man seemed to shrink down further, his crooked old back allowing him to hunch worse. He kept his head low, trying to hide in his own clothes.

"Don't do that," Swaine advised, taking note of the familiar action. He'd done it a time or two when he first stole, fearing capture. While it may have been useful to the then novice thief, it was no way to win affection from the citizens. "Your head has to be high, your posture proud," he lectured, almost quoting his younger brother.

"Y-y'know… on second thought. Maybe we should just-!"

"Hey! Don't quit now! You'll never reach your goal, remember," the wizard reminded him.

"You've made up your mind about this, right," the emperor inquired, raising an eyebrow.

The old man stood up straighter. "Right, I _have_ made up my mind," he declared.

"And once you've made up your mind, there's no going back, right? That's the _Eldon_ way," Swaine encouraged.

Right… The Eldon way, the old man thought, giving a final nod. He looked at Oliver with a nervous smile. "You'll help me, right, boy," he worriedly asked.

"Like I promised!" Oliver gave thumbs up, a confident, determined look- the same look he had when he had dived right into that river.

Eldon chuckled, cherishing the expression on the boy's face. These two… Whatever would I do without them? He thought as he entered the shop, his young friend following close behind him.

* * *

"Hi and welcome to- W-wait, aren't you-," the young blond began to stammer, eyes wide and the action of restocking a shelf halted. "Miss Leila," she shouted frantically, quickly putting up the supplies and running to the back room of the store.

"Man? What man," a distant voice from the back asked, growing nearer. "You're going to have to be more specific, Myrtle. I don't understand-," a larger woman with light brown hair tied back struggled, rushing out behind the young teen. Her soft expression hardened when she saw who it was. She moved Myrtle behind her, gently but firmly to protect the girl. "Oh. I see. What is it, then? What do you want from us," she interrogated, hands on her hips. She stared the man down.

"Miss, I- err… I just came in to say-," he faltered, taking off his hat, revealing his short wavy grey hair, and holding it in front of his chest, fidgeting with it nervously. His eyebrows furrowed up as he nervously gritted his teeth.

The lady looked behind him and noticed Oliver looking up at the man. He nodded encouragingly, a silent signal to continue. "Oliver! What are you doing with him?! I told you he-," she was cut off swiftly.

He spoke calmly and surely. "Please, ma'am. This boy saved my life. I know you don't like me. I know you think I'm some sort of threat. I know you have the best interest at heart. I applaud you for that, in fact, as a father. But the truth is, I would have given up the will to live without this gentleman, here. Please, don't be hard on him. Such kindness must be rewarded." He looked up, the fidgeting stopped. He had a warm smile on his face and a fierce and proud stubborn fire in his eyes- a fire the likes of which the savior had only seen in a certain thief's.

Eldon looked down, frowning. "I can't say for sure of what I was rambling about a few years ago has any truth to it. In fact, it could have just been part of my grief. I wouldn't hurt any innocent person. I wouldn't even try. Whatever I said or did that brought that type of thinkin', I'm sorry. I just want to live peacefully. I just want to be accepted… I'm just an old man who wants to while his days away on the shore of that river, fishing. Please, ma'am… You don't have to let me buy anything- just say that you'll forgive me?" He looked up, that fire still there, contradicted by the tears that now formed in the corner of his eyes. He gripped the hat tighter, holding it close to his chest.

"Please, Miss Leila? He's not a bad person," Oliver informed, stepping forward. "He actually saved me from drowning…," he paused looking away embarrassed. "Well, _again_ … I was trying to teach myself how to swim." He looked back at the shopkeeper who had seemed to soften up a bit. "If he really were as bad as that, he wouldn't have gone out of his way."

An awkward silence filled the room as Miss Leila tried to recover from the boy's revelation. Myrtle peeked out from around the older lady, curiously. Oliver had supported her and taught her to be brave. He had helped her when no one else dared to. If he was supporting this old man who everyone thought was crazy, then there was something to be said about him. "Miss Leila…," she began, tugging on her boss's dress.

Leila looked down at the blond. "What is it, dear," she asked, her voice a mixture of sweet and stern.

"I think Oliver's right. Maybe we should try to trust him again," she suggested, looking between the old man and the shopkeeper.

The older woman sighed, looking down, thinking. "You're right. Both of you. You're absolutely right." She sniffled, an unforeseen bout of belligerence. "What on earth have we done to this poor man…? Oh, dear," she reminisced guiltily. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, sir. I let petty rumors get the better of me." She looked at Eldon, her compassionate expression returning. "Can _you_ forgive _me_ ," she asked, twisting it around.

"Oh… Oh, god…," the fisherman breathed, shakily. "Of course, ma'am. Of course! I forgive you. I forgive everyone in this town, in fact, whether they know it or not," he announced. "Whether they know it or not," he repeated.

"Then let me be the first to accept your apology," Miss Leila accepted. "In fact, what do you need? Whatever it is, this once, it's on the house."

* * *

And that's how he managed to obtain so much ham for his bait. The shopkeeper even had a surplus of old bread she had failed to sell- given to him free of charge while the store he _had_ frequented made him pay. Myrtle, her helper, said that since he would be the only one buying stale bread, there was no point in charging him.

He stood proudly at the shore of the river with Oliver and Swaine, the savior and the emperor, the boy and the thief. He handed the two their respected fishing poles.

"You didn't bring one for yourself," the boy asked, concerned, and confused.

"Nah… I figure once Swaine gets it all figured out I could just watch his. Something tells me he'll take a nap, anyhow," he retorted, slyly looking at the younger man.

"Hey, that's-," he started to argue but felt a slight yawn rise in his throat. "That's… probably true," he muttered reluctantly, looking away from the pair.

Eldon sat down with the former thief and patiently showed him how to rig up a fishing pole. The royal watched carefully, intently. He paid attention to every nimbly tied knot and position of the tackle the old fisherman showed him. "And there you have it! A rig fit for a man of the river!" He handed the rod back to Swaine and scooted closer to the tackle box and coolers.

"Watch this," Oliver shouted, lightly twirling his rod and real like he was casting a spell. He threw it back suddenly and cast the line directly into the middle of the water.

Wide-eyed, Eldon held onto his cap as he stared out at the floating bobber, his left hand suspended in the air above his knee. "Good, gravy, that's one perfect cast there, sonny! Few novices can cast like that!" He relaxed and laughed, his hand finally resting on his knee. "You're a natural born fisherman!"

"Well, casting spells is kind of similar, I guess…," remarked a struggling Swaine, who was trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. He raised the pole, so he could look at the reel closely. He toyed with it for about a half hour before he got the gist of how to cast it. When he finally did cast his line, it landed a good meter or so away from Oliver's. "Well, damn it," he cursed, beginning to wind the line back in. An arm stopped him.

"What are ya doin', boy? Ya won't be able to catch anything if you just keep throwing it back out there over and over," Eldon lectured as he slowly withdrew his gnarled left arm. "Just sit back and relax… Fishin', like thievin', is a game of patience and wit. Unlike thievin', it's legal and downright lovely!"

Swaine glared at the old man. "What would you know about being a thief?"

"When you've had a kid in law enforcement, you learn all sorts of things," he cryptically stated with a knowing smile. All he got was an indignant scoff in return.

The afternoon went on like that. Oliver eagerly waited for a bite. The emperor lied back on the hill with his hands behind his head, napping as promised. Eldon enjoyed the peace of nature as usual with his newfound friends…

Only for a few hours later a bout of yelling broke the tranquility of the afternoon.

"Marcassin? The hell?!" Swaine had woken up to find a flower crown in his hair. When he looked up he saw the sage staring down at him. "When and how did you get here? More importantly, why?"

The sage shrugged and laughed. "Oliver's not the only one who knows how to use Gateway, brother."

"Ah, Marcassin," Eldon began. He nodded at the younger emperor. "Come to take a break?"

"A very small one. I just wanted to see what this _fishing_ business is all about," he waved. "Really, though. I never thought one could enjoy a hobby that most make a day's living from. I didn't even know people _liked_ to do it." The younger emperor shrugged, looking down at a rather annoyed older brother.

"I just can't believe you two, especially that Swaine fellow, don't know how fishing goes," the fisherman said. "I thought he'd at least know since he'd have to be livin' on his own as a thief. Shockingly not, it seems."

A growl sounded from beside the two and they looked over at the man in question. "It's not like I never thought about it, you know. I just never got around to it." He shook his head and took off the offending flowers. He stared at them for a second and looked up at Marcassin. "What do I look like, a fairy? Really?"

"You looked so peaceful… I thought it would be a nice touch," the young sage teased. "Like a little prince," he giggled.

Swaine leaped to his feet, picking up and throwing the crown down, unamused. "You're the 'little prince'," he shot back, grumpily.

"Liam's only playing, Swaine," Eldon cut in in an attempt to defuse the situation. Defuse it did, but not in the way he expected.

"Liam," Marcassin wondered, caught off guard by the man's slip of the tongue. "Who's 'Liam'?"

The fisherman rubbed his face in exasperation, realizing his blunder. He looked down and tapped his index finger on his knee. "My only surviving son… I guess it's because you look so much like him I kind of got your names mixed up," he divulged reminiscently.

"Ah, the artist, right? He does look a lot like Marcassin," the older emperor reminded, dropping the flower crown debacle.

Eldon nodded, smiling sadly back up at them. "That's the one. He's so far away now, but he's still my boy." He cleared his throat and watched Oliver who seemed intent on watching the bobber for a bite. "I made a promise to you two to keep my hopes up. I say you should return the favor, your majesties."

The younger and the older emperor exchanged glances and looked back to the fisherman. They both smiled confidently at him. "What is it," the sage asked.

"Whatever you need, just say the word, Eldon," Swaine offered, standing nonchalantly next to his more formal brother.

The old man nodded sagely, smiling. "I guess it goes without saying, but promise me you'll always look out for each other? I know it sounds rather sappy, but you are brothers and family should stick together if they can."

They both exchanged a glance again, but this time the two royal siblings burst into laughter. Eldon looked up at them in shock. "I'm serious, now! What's so funny, you two?"

The former thief shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "It's nothing- it's just that-!"

"We kind of already agreed on something similar," Marcassin finished through a bout of giggling.

"When I agreed to rule Hamelin by his side, that's the deal we made," Swaine added. "What was it, now? The pledge," he struggled as he turned to his brother for assistance.

"'Even if Hamelin should fall, the royal family will still stand tall'," the sage reminded, still smirking from their recent laughing fit. He placed a fist over his heart, a sign of solidarity.

"'Brother to brother 'till the very end'," the older emperor finished, nodding at his equal.

A chuckle escaped the old man. He leaned back against the hill, himself, relaxing.

"I got a bite," Oliver shouted excitedly, beginning his fight with an aquatic adversary. He pulled on the rod, turning the reel rhythmically. The two brothers watched in a trance as the boy slowly but surely pulled in his catch.

They rushed over to look at the recently caught fish, admiring it. Eldon heard his counterpart fuss about how he still hadn't caught anything, though in a lighthearted tone. He also heard the young sage compliment his prodigy on his fishing skill enthusiastically. "You're all really something, you know," he breathed, looking up at the sky and enjoying the company. The entire town may not have changed their opinions, but he didn't need that. He just needed a couple of people to believe in him. It all started with them, and for now, he was at least happy for that.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Here's an odd thing I accidentally did. I looked up the meaning of Eldon's name. It means "of old age" commonly. According to one site, people with the name Eldon are naturally excited about adventure and change. I swear. I had no idea. The name kind of just came to me!**

 **And I hope Eldon was just as believable as last time. I was going to go for a more lighthearted approach than this... but I couldn't. I had to handle the issues he was going through seriously. Sorry.**

 **Don't worry, next one _will_ go back to focusing on possible events between characters during the plot of the game. I kind of miss that, right now anyway. **

**Hope you enjoyed the tale of the fisherman! Do review!**


	13. Running Away?

**Author's Note:**

 **We're back with the group during the events of the game! Woot! This time I wanted to write one where Swaine and Esther have a _friendly_ chat. They never really just talk to each other, it seems. I mean there is that one scene late in the game, but otherwise… yeah. They just argue like siblings… **

**Again, shout out to moonbird for inspiration here- at least for the first portion. As for those of you who have been just as generous to favorite, review, comment, or- hell- even read this mess, I thank you greatly. I mean it. **

**Anyway, on with the show!**

 **Disclaimer: While I may own a copy of this game and wish I owned Swaine… I don't own the rights to it or Swaine. I do own the ideas I use for my fics, though… I think.**

~.~.~

A peaceful sleep did not find him that night. He thought the nightmares would have ceased since he joined the three since they destroyed that _thing_ that plagued his heart. No. As it turned out, nightmares, especially his, had many sources.

He dreamed he was in a world of darkness. He wasn't alone- the two kids in the group, a young Al Mamoonian girl and a boy from another world, were there as well. They weren't standing by his side as they always did when things looked serious. Instead, they had been taken, ensnared by an unseen adversary. They were being dragged under, reaching out for help.

He froze. Part of him wanted to run away, the instinct of self-preservation screaming at him. Part of him wanted to pull the two out of danger, to pull them to safety. Part of him knew, that despite whatever choice he made, it was already too late.

He ran toward them, an overwhelming urge to protect his friends overtaking him. When he reached toward them, the blond girl was quickly dragged under. He cursed himself for being to slow. Instead, he reached for the young wizard.

He hesitated when the face he saw shifted to that of his brother's, the sage's eyes possessed by the shadows. He froze, out of shock.

 _"Why try? Just run away. That's all you're ever good for,"_ it mocked, the voice distorted. It sounded like multiple people, especially his own, speaking in unison. He grimaced, hesitating further.

When he withdrew his hand, it cackled at him. It almost sounded like an anguished cry.

"Stop it," he shouted. "Just stop!" He gripped his hair, pulling at it. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he repeated, backing away. The cackling grew louder. When he looked up, he found its source. Possessed faces of the two he had just tried to save as well as his own father's and brother's hovered over and surrounded him. He lowered his gaze again to avoid the horrid sight.

The cackling suddenly stopped. _"You call yourself a prince?! You're barely even a man. Coward,"_ the voices sneered.

"Just, shut up, would you! Leave me alone," he cried, falling to his knees. They roared with laughter at his suffering. He could feel them converging in on him.

"No," he shouted. "Don't-," he began to protest.

"Swaine, wake up," a familiar voice called. He found himself being shaken awake. He opened his eyes to find Esther, the blond. She sighed tiredly and rubbed an eye. "You were thrashing around and shouting in your sleep," she began to explain to him. "You woke me up."

"Huh," he found himself only able to groan. He rolled over, frowning. "Sorry. Go back to sleep," he groggily ordered despite the fear of that dream coming back to haunt him again.

"Are you okay," Esther asked the thief. "You sounded like you were having a really bad nightmare."

Silence. Perhaps he hoped she would think he fell back asleep if he didn't answer.

"D-do you want to talk about it," she prodded, seemingly wide awake now. That trick would have never worked on her. He tended to snore rather loudly when he did fall asleep.

"Go to bed, Esther," he growled, looking over his left shoulder. He knew sleeping on her side of the fire was a bad idea from the start. The other two took the other side so if any wandering creature approached they would know to alert the rest. He was left with the familiar tamer- the girl who he'd come wager as someone who'd poke a sleeping bear if it snored too loudly.

"I'm not going to bed until I _know_ what's going on, Swaine," she demanded, huffing.

He rolled over to face her quickly, scowling. "I had a nightmare. The end. Now, will you kindly: Go. To. _Sleep_ ," he snapped in a vain attempt to keep his personal dilemma quiet.

"That's the part I want to help you with, though. The nightmare," she persisted, oddly concerned about his wellbeing.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Since when do you care? Here's a bit of knowledge you seemed to have missed, Esther: everyone has a bad dream every now and again. Everyone."

She sighed and finally returned to her sleeping bag. "Fine," she grumpily adhered, snuggling down into the purple sack. "Wake me when you need to talk."

* * *

An hour seemed to pass. He couldn't go back to sleep, he quickly found. He dreaded to think if what horrors would await him. He sat up and rubbed his forehead. He looked around and recalled their location. They were on No Isle of Mine, a rocky island near the shores of Autumnia. He could wander off and return by the time everyone got up. No one would miss him.

Something told him otherwise. He shook his head, closing his eyes and remained there in thought. What did it mean, he pondered. Why am I so shaken up about it? It was just a dream, he argued in his head.

He looked at the sleeping familiar tamer and considered her offer. He didn't want to disturb her… but maybe the girl was right, for once. Maybe this was something he needed to talk to someone to work out.

He crawled down to her sleeping bag and shook her awake. "Esther, hey."

She turned her head, her eyes squeezing shut even more so before they finally opened. She looked up to see a tired thief smirking down at her. "Hmm? What is it," she yawned at him.

"About that chat. I could use some help working that nightmare out after all...," he sheepishly admitted. "Sorry for pushing you away, earlier. I was just being stubborn." He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

She giggled and sat up, flashing him a reassuring smile. "It's alright. Tell me about this nightmare..."

* * *

"Oh, wow… that sounds horrifying," the blond gasped. She had her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide. "Do you think it's guilt? Of running away when… well… you know."

The man shook his head. "I'm not sure. The demon called me a coward, too…," he admitted. "And I couldn't save you or Oliver." At that, he winced and looked out to the ocean. "In the end, I couldn't even save myself." He held his hands up in front of him and looked down at them.

"Maybe you're worried you'll let us down," Esther proposed, confused herself.

"Well, now I am. If you lot get in a bind, who's to say I won't hesitate," he asked her, though it was more to himself. "Who's to say I won't just…" He threw his hands down in a fit of frustration.

"…run away," Esther finished. "But… You wouldn't. You haven't before. You've pulled through for us when we needed it so many times," she recounted, recalling countless battles where, if it hadn't been for the thief, they would have been done for.

He locked his eyes with hers for a moment. He turned his head away slowly, pensively. He sighed through his nose and closed his eyes and slowly nodded. "I know. But still…" He opened his eyes again, glancing down. "I really am a coward, Esther. I'm _always_ afraid. It wouldn't matter who I'm with, or where I'm at. I'm always going to be afraid." He shook his head, chuckling. "I don't know how you and Oliver can just plunge into danger without a single doubt in your mind. I kind of admire that, really."

Silence fell on them for a moment. Esther looked down, contemplating his words.

"You're not a coward," she stated.

His attention snapped back to her. He looked at the blonde, surprised. "I'm sorry… what did you say?"

"You. Are not. A coward," she spelled out for him. She looked up at the man with that usual headstrong look in her eye. "It takes courage still stand up and fight, even when you're afraid. A coward really would just run away. You can't be a coward!"

He let out a sigh, shaking his head. "I can't believe what I'm hearing… Esther…" He looked at the girl with an incredulous expression. "I think if you lot weren't there, I'd be running for the hills. I really do."

"Then that makes you even less of a coward, doesn't it? A coward would just abandon his friends," she argued, glaring up at Swaine.

"Hah! You're confusing courage with responsibility, aren't you?" He looked back out at sea, avoiding her glare. "I'm just doing what I think is right, that's all…" There was a tinge of disappointment and longing in his voice. He eventually turned his entire person towards the view of the distant shore, hoping to end the conversation

Another wave of silence passed over them. The sound of the sea and distant mechanical creatures moving around kept them in a soothing company.

"Then it's your sense of responsibility that gives you your courage…," she finally answered. "It gives you a reason to fight!" She placed her right hand over her heart, gripping the fabric of her top. "All of us… we all have our own reasons for enduring what we have. It's what gives us our strength, our fearlessness."

The man didn't respond. He continued to stubbornly look out at the moonlit sea.

Esther sighed, her hand loosening its grip as she looked down. "I'm… I'm always scared, too…," she divulged quietly.

The thief's eyes widened, unseen by the familiar tamer. He turned his head to glance at her. "How?"

She looked up, turning her gaze to the lanky form next to her. "Huh," was all she offered.

Turning quickly so he could directly face her he clarified, "How are you, of all people, scared? I mean, we _are_ going up against the Dark Djinn- but honestly… You always seem so… Agh…" He shut his eyes and looked away before looking back at her. "You don't seem to worry about it at all, is what I'm trying to say." He motioned with his hand, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm… I'm actually terrified of facing the Dark Djinn," she muttered. "I'm always a little worried that we won't make it when we fight something big." She looked up, sporting a fierce strongminded expression the thief had seen many a time. "I know, though, that I can't let it get the best of me. I won't be intimidated! What kind of person would I be if I didn't at least try?"

He smirked and then laughed. "So, you're running away, too?"

The girl tilted her head, confused. "What do you mean?"

He motioned around himself, a nonchalant attitude about him. "We're both running away… _from ourselves_."

She raised an eyebrow. "'From ourselves'?" He wasn't making a bit of sense. "What does that even mean?"

"Think of it as a metaphor. We're both trying to avoid things about ourselves we don't want to acknowledge." He wasn't exactly sure if his analogy would take. Giving motivational speeches on a limited amount of sleep wasn't exactly his forte.

She paused for a moment. "But… if I'm running away from my fear, then… what are _you_ running from, Swaine?"

"There's quite a bit, really. The biggest one being my own sense of identity. I've been trying to work that one out for a while now." He collapsed down on the ground, his arms spread over his head. "Even now, I don't know who I am, Esther…" He looked up at the sky.

"You seem pretty confident in being a thief," she noted coyly.

"But I'm a prince, too. What do you make of that?" He studied the stars, admiring their beauty in the clear night sky. Swaine the pickpocket and Gascon the prince seemed sometimes polar opposites of each other. "I can't be both, you know."

"Of course you can! Just don't act like a common criminal," she suggested. "You're both the same person. And just because you happen to be a prince, that shouldn't change anything. You're still you, aren't you," she noted while leaning on her arms, bent over from her cross-legged position on her sleeping bag. "Why don't you just focus on that?"

"Am I, now? I wouldn't exactly call myself princely material, Esther, especially in my current state." He lied there in thought. I guess, though… she has a point- maybe there really is no point separating the two, now.

* * *

Another hour seemed to pass.

"Swaine," she started, observing the man. He had closed his eyes in silent contemplation earlier. She started to think he'd fallen asleep when he didn't answer. She sat back up, an unsure face taking over. "I'm actually kind of envious of you… I can't be my self- not really. There's probably still so much you hide from everyone, too but…" She hesitated. "Even if you aren't sure of who you are, you always seem so confident in your abilities. I'm always worried I'll mess up." She let out a nervous laugh. "I guess that's a pretty common fear. I just never felt brave enough to admit it."

"I can't just say I'm scared either like you can." The blond looked at the thief, his facial expression unchanged. "I've got to be strong, right? That means putting on a brave face, righting wrongs, and helping people, doesn't it? I-," she faltered, her words were full of doubt. "I shouldn't be scared- not of anything." She swallowed, a lump of anxiety forming in her throat.

"It's alright to be afraid, you know," a voice from beside the girl consoled. "You don't always have to be so headstrong."

She looked at Swaine. The man had his eyes closed, still. "I…," she started. There it was again, the proud attitude of a former prince.

He sat up again, massaging his temple. "Gees. What did we just talk about? You're just running away from it again." He crossed his arms, analyzing the situation. It seemed she had built this up for quite some time. He leaned forward. "Don't bottle it up… It will eventually explode, your worries, I mean," he advised softly.

She smiled, grateful for his support. "You mean like you were doing earlier," she joked, elbowing him.

He winced, holding his abdomen and leaning away. "Yeah, I'm no saint," he coughed. He looked at the giggling teen. "I wouldn't mind lending an ear, you know."

"Alright, but don't fuss if I wake you for a midnight chat," she warned, wagging a finger.

The thief huffed and rolled his eyes. "I make no promises."

* * *

The two couldn't go back to sleep after that. They kind of just sat in awe of the night sky and the large moon that hung overhead. For once, they sat in silent agreement with each other. When morning finally came, things finally went back to normal.

"You guys are up early," Oliver observed groggily, not noticing what was really going on for a moment. They seemed to be leaning on each other for support, the lack of sleep caught up with them. "Umm… Swaine, Esther- you two okay?"

The fairy walked in front of them and snapped his fingers in front of their content faces, unaware of the awkward position they were in. "Flippin' heck, mun. They're out like a light! No wonder they ent pushing each other away right now!"

Oliver walked over to the pair and gripped the familiar tamer's shoulder, shaking it, figuring he could survive a magic harp attack to the face better than a gunshot. "Hey, Esther. Esther, it's time to wake up."

The girl blearily opened her eyes. It took a moment for her to register where she was. She felt her cheek rub against the sleeve of the man's coat, causing her to look up slightly. She quickly woke up, straightening herself and scrambling a couple feet from Swaine. "Agh," she yelped. She punched the man she had accidentally used as a pillow.

"Ouch! Hey! What was that for," the thief snapped, instantly wide awake and rubbing his arm.

"For letting me lean on you like that!" She scowled at him.

The thief looked at her, though his focus was on what had exactly happened. He stayed silent for a moment.

"Honestly… I don't remember even turning in for the night, Esther. Do you," he wisely asked, having put the pieces together. Honestly, he thought. I have more of a thing for the ground than anyone here, considering that's where everyone usually sleeps. The hell, Esther?

The girl thought for a moment herself. She realized she didn't. "…Yeah… Sorry for jumping to such a silly conclusion, Swaine," She apologized to the rugged mess of a man who still held his arm. He looked back at the boy by now, blearily taking in an explanation of the day's plans.

"Oi, we better get goin'! Sun's already up," the fairy shouted at the group. All in agreement, they packed up camp and prepared to be whisked away by a purple dragon.

Oliver sounded the horn. As they waited, Esther nudged Swaine gently. "Hey."

"Hmm," he nonchalantly responded, not bothering to look at her.

"Thanks for the chat." It was kind of funny, in a way. She felt as if he had helped her more than she helped him.

Tengri landed in front of them and they were off, flying where the wind would take them on their adventure to save the world.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Tried to keep it platonic with some fluffy humor at the end. I actually don't pair those two together. Really. They really do come off as siblings that bicker more than anything to me. We need more platonic Swaine and Esther fics where they just talk or do stuff together as friends. I feel that's kind of lacking in the fanbase.**

 **Fun fact, I actually wrote part of this staying over at a friend's place. We stayed up late and talked about stuff. She even showed me this cool comic she found! I find it funny: I think it affected how I approached this one-shot in a positive manner. Like the part where Swaine lays back on the ground while he's sitting next to Esther? Yeah. I did that a couple of times while sitting on her bed with my laptop in my lap. I took small little breaks when I found it hard to come up with reasonable reactions between these two- that's when we chatted and had fun.**

 **In any case. Please, do review. I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	14. Closure

**Author's Note:**

 **Hey, guys! So, this spawned sort of out of my issues with how the game treats Swaine and Marcassin's relationship as brothers. I felt they needed a little more closure than what they got.**

 **Shout out to a lot of people! Including the regulars that have graced me with ideas and love. You know who you are. Also, a response to Malecxxx since they reviewed/commented as a guest: "Thanks for the kind words and I'm glad you liked Eldon! I like him, too… I worked really hard on him."**

 **Warning, this drabble may include: A little OOC-ness, feels, spoilers, two times the hugging, brothers being brothers, and my pension for pushing Swaine into a vat of emotional turmoil. Yuni is not responsible for any tears lost or the game content (i.e., rights). Yuni _is_ responsible for the content you see below. Thanks!**

~.~.~

So, the plan was set in motion: they would gather the stones to complete the legendary wand, Mornstar. Equipped with handy spells thanks to Hamelin's great sage, the odd group prepared to leave the mechanical city behind.

"Before you leave," the sage began, though looking at the tallest in the group all the while. "I'd like a moment alone with Swaine."

The two kids and the fairy looked over at the thief curiously.

"Huh? I mean," the young wizard stammered and refocused on their new ally, minding his manners. "Yes, Marcassin," he stammered, half bowing to him. "If it's alright with him, anyway."

Swaine's demeanor seemed unchanged- at least to the others. A nervous bout of energy ran through him as he continued to focus on Marcassin. It had been years since he last talked to his brother, face to face- _alone_. Well, at least in the same time period, that is.

"You should have some closure, shouldn't you," the young braid adorned girl inquired when the ragged man didn't say anything. "I mean, you _are_ family, aren't you?"

"Esther," Oliver hissed, annoyed. They had agreed not too long before returning to keep silent about their friend's past. Here she was breaking that agreement… well, kind of.

"No, no, she's right," the thief eased. "You lot go on. I'll be with you shortly."

They turned to look at him again, slightly shocked. "Are you sure," the wizard asked, concern gracing his young features.

Swaine nodded, smirking. "I'll be fine. Whatever needs to be said is between me and Marcassin," he reassured. "It _has_ been fifteen years since we last spoke, brother to brother, after all," he reminded, locking eyes with Marcassin with a gentle smile on his lips.

The sage nodded, a small smile on his own face. "I will not keep him long," he promised.

The rest all looked at each other and collectively nodded. They turned and walked out, Esther shutting the door behind them.

The two brothers stood in awkward silence. If it weren't for his bad posture, the elder of the two would have stood over the ruler.

Marcassin's small smile had faded and he approached Swaine calmly and slowly with a more neutral expression. When he drew nearer, his face slowly became stern, his eyes fixed on his brother's, his mouth set. He finally stopped when he stood a foot in front of the prince turned rogue.

Noticing his change in countenance, the thief raised an eyebrow, frowning. What's he so serious about, he asked himself.

It came out of nowhere, to Swaine it seemed. One minute he was standing eye to eye with the sage, the next he was recoiling, holding his jaw out of sheer shock.

Marcassin's right hand had connected with his brother's left cheek, the force of it fueled by raw anger and disappointment- both entirely spent in the action. He recomposed himself as he watched the thief stumble back with widened eyes. "Sorry," he apologized.

"'Sorry'?! The hell, Marcassin?! What the hell are you 'Sorry' for?! And what the hell-," he shouted as he stumbled and nursed his sore jaw. He never knew his little brother could pack such a punch. "What the hell did you slap me for?"

"I slapped you for taking so long to come home," the sage explained, approaching his brother again. When he got close this time, the thief almost stepped back reflexively.

Swaine found himself in a brotherly embrace. He gasped shortly, glancing at the prince's head next to his. He's certainly grown a bit over the years, he noticed.

"And I'm sorry you had to come home to such a rundown Empire. I'm sorry I had to slap you… But fifteen years is too long, Gascon," he stated, eyes closed. He held the man tighter, gripping the back of his coat as if he were clinging to a precious object that threatened to fly away.

The thief closed his eyes and lowered his head to rest on Marcassin's shoulder. "I accept your apology, brother," he whispered hoarsely, sincerely. "I'm so sorry you had to suffer alone." He gritted his teeth and slowly reached up to hug his younger brother. "I know I said I kept my promise but… I don't feel that's…" The thief prince swallowed, trying to keep his emotions at bay. "…That that's entirely true."

The ruler's eyes snapped open, but his grip remained tight. "Nonsense. You are here _now_. I can finally restore order to Hamelin- to the entire Empire. It's all thanks to you and your friends," he comforted, smiling. He closed his eyes again and buried his face in the slightly taller prince's shoulder. Despite the rugged look of the coat, it had a softness to it and smelled of earth and herbs.

"You actually smell decent, despite your appearance…," the prince finally acknowledged after moments of their embrace. He finally pulled away, smiling at the worn down Gascon.

"Well, the herb smell is from one of the capsules for my gun. The rest is all from sleeping on the ground," he admitted, rubbing his neck and chuckling.

The sage nodded. He frowned again, recalling parts of their conversation. "I cannot call you, 'brother' as you have called me… not yet, Gascon." He shook his head as he said this. He knew without a doubt that the man before him was indeed Gascon of Hamelin by blood. "Time can be unreasonably cruel to a person," he explained.

The thief leaned back suddenly. But he just… he thought. He then regained his composure. "Of course- we've both changed so much", the older prince reflected. He nodded wisely at the young ruler. "Take your time, Marcassin."

Marcassin let out a frustrated sigh, clenching his fists. "I wish… I wish you could stay, Gascon. It seems like you just returned home." He relaxed his hands and looked up at him. "But, as I, you have your own duties to attend to."

"Believe me, I feel the same," the thief admitted. He glanced at a far wall passively. "I doubt there's much I could do here, though."

The ruler gave a half nod, grinning confidently. "Indeed. You'd do the Empire much better helping Oliver defeat the Dark Djinn. I look forward to the day you return triumphant." Marcassin laughed encouragingly.

"Don't you mean _if_ I return, brother," Swaine corrected, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

Another chuckle escaped the younger prince. He shook his head, that smile still plastered on his young features. "I believe with all my heart that you _will_ return. We may even meet again before this all comes to pass."

"How so," the older prince asked.

Marcassin wrapped his arms around his brother once again. "I just know. You're too stubborn to quit…" He breathed into the green coat. "Even as I put the Empire back together, I'll be thinking of you, Gascon. You're still family, after all."

Though the ruler couldn't see it, the thief contently beamed. He chuckled reminiscently. "Y'know, that brings up a fair point," he began, focusing on the magenta sofa behind Marcassin's back. "I thought of you every day, Marcassin. I wondered how Hamelin fared without me. I worried even worse when I heard about father." He glanced down at the shimmering floor and shakily exhaled. "God… Marcassin. I should have come back the moment I received the news. I'm so sorry…," he apologized again, keeping his hands at his side with clenched fists. He could feel his nails digging into his palm.

"What happened," the ruler asked.

For a moment there was silence. Swaine didn't respond verbally. He reached up and returned the gesture, his embrace tighter this time. He held onto the ruler, almost leaning on him.

"Gascon…," Marcassin inquired, concerned.

"I lost restraint. You know how it is, being brokenhearted," he finally said. "I was just about to head back. I had arranged to go home- a boat and everything. Then Shadar came," he admitted, reliving the horror of losing a piece of himself. "I- I… I couldn't…," he continued shakily. "Suddenly every tempting thought, insane or no, became a very viable option. I never made it on board." He closed his eyes. "I should've been here. It's my own damn fault, Marcassin."

"The future is a mystery to all men, even to you. I think I understand why you were gone for so long, now…," the ruler comforted, holding his brother close. He felt the lanky frame of the thief tremble from all the pent-up emotion. "If you must cry, I wouldn't judge you. It hurt to let the kingdom fall to ruin." He sighed into the jacket again. "We are both at fault-"

"Would you stop preaching and let me hold you," the older man snapped, his voice quivering. His head shifted suddenly to glare at Marcassin. "Just this once… I'd like to be close to my _brother_. No words. No grand gestures. I'd just like a nice quiet hug from my _little brother_ ," he softly requested, closing his eyes afterword. He rested his head again on Marcassin's shoulder, taking in a shivering breath.

The sage considered Gascon's request and granted it with a slow nod. He closed his eyes as well.

The two brothers stood there for quite a while. Whatever issue one or the other had become null and void for the time being. After years of separation neither had ever felt this close to one another in a long time. It felt nice, for once, to be able to comfort each other- even if it was the last time until the world returned to order.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **I told you there'd be hugging. I really wanted them to hug each other outside of that one part where you save mini-Swaine and Marcassin. That, and there isn't that much closure between them. Not really. It's kind of sad. I get not wanting to get all emotional in front of the others for either side, but I felt there needed to be some discussion between these two about the whole "being alone for fifteen years" deal.**

 **Sorry if I overdid it with the hugging… I also want to give Swaine a hug half the time I played. He looks like he needs one.**

 **Honestly, this kind of came from a lot of ideas. The slap was initially a funny thought line I had- it was mostly funny because of how I imagined Swaine's face. The explanation Swaine gives is an actual rationale that I pieced together a while ago- that he did intend to go home but Shadar got to him first. The need for closure is based on my issues with how passive the game is about the whole reunion between these two.**

 **Anyway, do review if you wish. I look forward to your thoughts, everyone!**


	15. Ice Cream Break

**Author's Note:**

 **Gasp! I'm back? With another drabble for this fic? Wasn't that the last one earlier?**

 **Okay, probably not many are actually asking that, but in the event that you were: yes. Yes, that was supposed to be the last one, but after regaining a bit of my fire I found I had two more in me. This one's inspired by a picture of Swaine giving Pea a piggyback ride.**

 **In any case, on with the show~!**

 **Disclaimer: I own ice cream. It's not flavored by the rights of the game. Therefore, I do not own the rights to the game. Go eat some ice cream- even if it's just frozen juice.**

~.~.~

It seemed like everything was moving at quite a rush. The fight to save the three kingdoms from the white ash had been difficult, long, and exhausting. The group had hardly any time to just sit and rest, save for viewing the memories contained in the flowers Pea found.

Now it was on to Nazcaa, wherever _that_ was. Pea knew, so it wouldn't be hard to find. That wasn't the issue, though. It was the sheer amount of stress that weighed on everyone. It was the rush to save the world… _again_. Eventually, someone was going to snap out of sheer exhaustion if they didn't stop to breathe a little.

At least, those were the thoughts that ran through the thief's mind as he leaned against the wall of the captain's quarters. He called out the largest familiar in his party, Squishy- a giant furry snow beast from the winter isles. He hadn't been treating the yeti to any treats for all its hard work, he realized guiltily. Now was better than ever.

It nuzzled his torso affectionately after he fed it ice cream. "There's a good boy," he cooed softly, petting the big fluffy pushover lovingly. He didn't notice the little queen running toward him.

"Ice cream! Ice cream," she shouted, giggling afterward. She looked up at Swaine, smiling. "Can I have some ice cream?"

For a moment the thief hesitated. Squishy looked at her curiously as its master rubbed the back of his head. Sighing, he called the large familiar back and regretfully looked down at Pea. "Sorry, Pea. That was the last of it," he informed, shrugging.

"Aw…," she whined. She slowly looked down. "I wanted some ice cream…," she complained. "Now it's all gone. All gone."

Swaine looked out to the horizon next to him. He sighed and shook his head before looking back at the child in front of him. "I'm really sorry Pea," he softly apologized. He looked back at the rest of the ship. Esther and Oliver were talking with Marcassin about the upcoming search it seemed.

That's all they ever talked about any more since that whole mess started- how to fix it. Didn't anyone talk about anything else? What about after everything had blown over- _if_ it blew over? At this rate, the chances of them facing this mysterious foe and winning wouldn't be all too high, especially right after what they had just faced.

It was clear- they needed a break from it all. Then there was Pea, little Pea asking for something as simple as ice cream. He snapped his fingers with a wide smile. That was it. He knelt down to the young queen. "I have an idea. We can all get ice cream," he whispered.

Her face brightened up and she giggled. "Really?"

"Yeah, just go tell Oliver and the others to meet me over here, and we'll all go get some, alright," he instructed her kindly. He saw her smile and nod before running off to the other four.

He stood and continued to lean against the wall of the cabin as he observed them. They all seemed confused when they looked back at the rogue. Eventually, they started to walk toward him, Pea leading them all.

"Swaine," Esther began to chastise. "Ice cream? Really? At a time like this," she groaned, rubbing her forehead.

"She has a point, brother. We are in the middle of a crisis," Marcassin began, obviously expecting more from the eldest prince of Hamelin. "We can't just stop and _get ice cream_."

"Yes, we can. Have you seen you lot? You're all a bundle of nerves," he observed simply. He smirked at the group. "If we all go to save the world without a moments peace of mind now, we're bound to fail," he explained with a raised eyebrow.

"Swaine," Oliver began to protest. "We don't have much of a choice. We have no time to lose. We don't know if the white ash will fall again…"

"The ash won't fall again," Pea announced. She turned to face the group. "We can still find smelly old Nazcaa," she began to argue. "But Pea wants ice cream."

"But, Pea… Are you sure," the young wizard asked.

"She wants ice cream," the thief interjected. "Maybe she wants us to take a break, too… is that right Pea?" He looked down and smiled at the girl. He could only guess, but considering her pattern, the young queen had reasons for everything.

She nodded up at the thief, giggling again.

"Hey, don't plant ideas in her head," Esther warned, pointing at Swaine, glaring at him as she stomped forward.

Pea shook her head and looked back at Esther. "No, Pea wants a break, too. And ice cream," she reinforced.

There was a collective sigh from the group as they looked at the two. Pea casually walked up to Swaine's side and took his hand. "We can get ice cream! Ice cream for everyone," she cheered. She looked up at the thief who chuckled in response to her enthusiasm.

"Yeah, let's go get some ice cream," he calmly encouraged.

"I guess we ent got a choice, do we? There's pushy," the fairy commented, crossing his small arms huffily.

"Perhaps Gascon does have a point, we _have_ been on edge lately. A small break shouldn't hurt us _too_ much," Marcassin reasoned as he put his hand to his chin. "I dare say it might make us more efficient in our pursuits."

Oliver finally nodded in agreement. "We _have_ been kind of going non-stop since this all started." He smiled and nodded. "So, anyone know a good place to get ice cream," he wondered.

Esther raised her hand eagerly. "There's a place in Al Mamoon," she cheered. "They sell all sorts of ice cream there!" Her demeanor broke when she heard Swaine snicker. "What," she growled.

"Oh, nothing, Esther. You just really seem excited about ice cream all of a sudden," he noted, amused at her sudden change of attitude.

She rolled her eyes. "Must you be so… Ugh," she groaned irritably. The thief had a way of pressing all the wrong buttons.

The young wizard nodded affirmatively, took out his wizard's companion, and began to cast travel. "Let's go," he shouted as they disappeared.

* * *

They stood in front of the stand ordering ice cream. Esther decided on a ruby ripple cone, Oliver a babana split, and Drippy had vanilla with sprinkles.

"Real tidy this is," the fairy claimed as he began to devour the frozen treat.

The thief couldn't help but smirk as he watched them all dive into their own specific order of ice cream. He turned to Pea who patiently waited for the others. "What would you like, Pea," he requested, crouching to her level.

She giggled and swiveled back and forth in place. "Vanilla." She grinned at him.

"One vanilla? Got it." He stood to order, facing the ice cream merchant. He felt a tug on his jacket and looked down at the green haired girl. She held two fingers up at him.

"Two scoops," she demanded through a smile.

"Oh," Swaine questioned, raising both eyebrows. "Can you eat that many," he jested, holding a hand out to the street.

"Pea can eat a lot of ice cream," she argued, defiantly pouting. She crossed her arms as she glared up at the man.

He feigned shock, stepping back from her. He shook his head and he couldn't help but laugh. He found her little fit adorable. "Okay, keep your hair on." He turned to the merchant and made the order, exchanging the guilders from his ration of cash.

The merchant handed him a cone with two scoops of vanilla, as promised, in a sheet of paper. He handed it to Pea. "One vanilla ice cream cone with two scoops," he announced. "Just for you, Queen Pea."

She smiled and began to eat the ice cream. She looked up at the former prince and thanked him for the ice cream.

"So," Oliver began as he watched the Swaine order his. "What are you guys going to do after this is all over?"

For a moment the others stopped eating their cold treats to think. Esther was the first to pipe up.

"I'm probably going to open a biiiig farm for familiars! Then people can come and adopt them as pets," she announced. "I think it would be so exciting," she fantasized before taking another bite out of the side of the cone. "What about you, Oliver," she wondered with her mouth still full. She swallowed. "Do you have any plans?"

Oliver looked down at the remainder of his babana split in thought. "I dunno. Probably just keep going to school…," he guessed, realizing he had spent most of his summer saving the world. "But then I also want to help Phil build the world's fastest car!" He looked up at the sky, a determined look on his face.

Marcassin, who had paused from eating his toadstool sundae looked up. "'Car'? You mean those machines people were riding in in your world, Oliver?"

"Yeah. Those! We'll build the fastest car in the world! It'll be really neat-o," he enthusiastically cheered.

"Too bad no one can see us. I'd love to help," Swaine stated as he leaned against the wall. He took a bite off the scoop on top.

Oliver awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Umm… Yeah… Sorry, guys," he began, looking between the two brothers. "It's kind of me and Phil's thing, y'know." He shrugged and quickly took another scoop of the split.

"I get it." The thief nodded empathetically. He recalled the same feeling he had when he and Marcassin built the model hog tank. It was something just between them.

"What about you, Swaine," Oliver asked, tilting his head to look the man in question.

The thief stopped eating his ice cream cone for a second. "Not sure… Might go and travel around some more," he thought aloud as he idly turned the cone in his hand. He scoffed and smirked at Oliver. "Then again, maybe I'll settle down somewhere. You lot have managed to give me enough excitement to last me for _ten_ lifetimes!" He chuckled as he took a bite out of the side of his ice cream cone. "Perhaps… I might just go back to Hamelin," he suggested after he swallowed. This caught his brother's attention.

"Would you," the sage hesitantly wondered, looking up at his brother. "What would you do, brother?"

The thief shrugged, mouth full. "Who knows," he said through his chewing.

The group was silent as they each finished their individual orders of ice cream.

"What does Pea want to do after we save the world," Oliver asked, looking at Pea who had managed to eat most of the cone and had just put the last of it in her mouth.

Pea looked up at the young wizard curiously. "Flowers! I want to fill the world with flowers," she cried happily.

"…Flowers," the boy questioned, confused. "Like the flowers you've been finding, Pea?"

She nodded and spread her arms out over her head. "So many lovely flowers, Oliver! I want them everywhere!"

With that thought in mind, the thief looked at the paper left over from the cone. It would be a long time until she could do that. He set himself to work, attempting at a temporary solution.

"That sounds nice, Pea," the blonde complimented. "I hope we can help."

Finally finished with the task he had set himself to, Swaine caught their attention. "I might have something," he hinted. He held out a paper flower- a lotus.

The group marveled at it curiously. The thief was full of surprises, they found. Even his brother was shocked to see this unprecedented development.

"When did you-," Marcassin began, eyes wide. "I don't remember you mastering paper crafts, Gascon."

Swaine rolled his eyes. "You know these hands didn't become nimble just by tinkering and thieving, don't you? I kind of went through a phase, if that's what you want to call it." He sighed exasperatedly. This was why some talents went unnoticed- it sometimes meant bringing up the past.

Dodging their curious questions, he turned and presented the flower to Pea. "For you, Pea," he graciously offered. "Until you can achieve that dream, anyway."

She giggled and took the flower, admiring it. "Silly bean! I meant real flowers," she complained, though grateful for his gift. "Thank you, bean man."

"I'm not a bean," he corrected, standing back up. He put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow at her new name for him.

"You are, too! You're a silly bean," she shot back.

"Am not," he returned, crossing his arms. He looked away from the little girl in a mock huff.

"Are too. Silly bean," she continued, swaying back and forth. "You're a tall silly bean!"

"Is this because I called you 'Bean' the first time we met," he curiously wondered, feigning annoyance as he turned back to face her. He loved messing with her out of good fun. It was like having a little sister.

She nodded. "Mm-hmm!" She pointed up at him with one hand. "Silly bean!"

He finally gave and chuckled. "Fine… I'm a 'silly bean'." He smiled down at the young queen and ruffled her hair. "And you're a silly Pea," he retorted.

She laughed, smiling joyously. She held the paper flower close to her chest, almost treasuring it. "It's not real, but it's still pretty," she admired it, holding it up to the light.

"Well, I'm glad you like it, Pea." He couldn't help but smile fondly at the child. It felt good to have someone admire his handiwork now and again. It felt good to be appreciated.

"They seem to get along well," Esther observed, watching as Swaine joked and played along with whatever Pea had in mind. "I guess Swaine really does have a soft side."

Marcassin nodded next to her, smiling at the sight of the thief making another flower for her, this time showing her the process. She seemed enthralled with each fold he made. "Indeed. He has had practice, after all, in the affairs of looking after a younger sibling." He laughed when he saw Pea take the new flower from Swaine, comparing it with its predecessor. "I'm glad to see that part of him is still alive and well."

Oliver shrugged and looked at the sage. "I guess we've all changed, haven't we?"

"Well after a journey like this one, I doubt any of us could stay the same," Swaine noted, smirking.

"Oi, he's right! It just ent possible, mun! You'd have to be a fairy to get through all this without it affecting ya," Drippy agreed from his place below everyone. "Even there's a stretch."

The thief, the harpist, the wizard, the sage and the queen all nodded in agreement. "After this, so much will change, won't it," Oliver wondered.

"Well, not if we don't get moving," the rugged man indicated. "If you lot are ready to get started again, I'm all for it." He leaned against a wall, eying the group.

"Now look who's in a rush," Esther argued, pointing at Swaine accusingly.

"Hey… we just stopped to get ice cream, remember? There's still a powerful being out there ready to wreak havoc on us at a moment's notice," the thief reminded them, closing one eye.

The sage nodded in agreement. "Yes, we've had our break. It's time we continue our search."

The two kids nodded at the ruler. Oliver turned to Pea. "Ready to find Nazcaa," he inquired encouragingly.

The child nodded energetically with a confident smile. "Let's find Nazcaa!"

Their break was over, then. It was off to Nazcaa shortly after that brief moment of peace and relaxation. It was off to find Cassiopeia and save the world. The rush continued on, but everyone with steadier focus.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Ah, yes. The end of another drabble… Short one this time. I like the idea of Swaine acting like an older brother. Despite his profession it fits his character surprisingly well.**

 **In any case, the next drabble is a reworked idea I originally had for an epilogue for my other Ni No Kuni fic, _Fit For A King_. If you want to read that, knock yourself out. I warn you, though, it might not be all that you expect. I decided to go ahead and make the next drabble a separate thing from that. It'll be based on an idea that me and moonbird have been tossing around… Because I like putting this thief through hell.**


	16. A Porcine Emperor's Pride

**Author's Note:**

 **Back with another one! This one I _was_ going to do as part of an epilogue but, I decided to scrap it and do a what-if scenario. I won't say what it is yet, but I want you to figure it out. **

**In any case, credit goes to moonbird for the idea. Thanks again for the lovely inspiration, you.**

 **Anyway, on with the show!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own a pickpocketing gun… That feels like it should be something I should own but just isn't true. I guess you could say the same for the rights for Ni no Kuni! Haha!**

~.~.~

"Run! Run, I say," shouted a tall, bear of a teenage boy as he ran from an enraged hyperboar. He made the mistake of looking over the shoulder of his red petticoat. The beast was right behind him. He sharply inhaled clenching the pickpocketing gun he had discovered a couple of weeks ago in his hand. He'd been tinkering with it ever since.

"You don't have to tell me twice," his thinner, scrappier brother called as he ran past him, tossing the stick he had used on the beast to the side. In hindsight, this plan was the worst idea they could have come up with.

It was Svin's idea. All of it. Svin, the master of not thinking things through. The accidental mess maker. It was up to his older brother, Midero, to keep him out of trouble. That turned out differently this time. Despite the older brother's efforts, despite his constant attempts to talk the lighter, curlier haired Svin out of doing something so _foolish_ , the younger prince wouldn't have any of it.

 _"Fine, if you won't help me, I'll just do it myself,"_ he recalled regretfully as he found himself guarding the now cowering fool behind him. _"I'm_ going _to become a guard, Midero. Unlike you, I have no future secured for me,"_ he remembered the stubborn teen telling him just before he exited Hamelin. It was hard to argue with him when he got that way. He even thought of tackling him and holding him down with the brat's own green waist jacket.

He could never do that. He was too gentle for his own good. He was thankful the gun he used didn't do much damage… at first. He worried that he'd hit Svin when he fired at it the first time. To his horror, the creature turned to him, switching its target.

They now found themselves cornered against a steep hillside. Midero shakily held the same gun he had used to distract the beast before up in front of him. He aimed for the space right between its eyes.

"Still think this is the way to become a guard, Svin," the older brother with long dark brown hair chastised. His voice betrayed him- it cracked out of fear.

"Would you just shoot it already," the younger brother snapped. He glared up at him then yelped as he watched the boar stamp the earth with its hoof.

Like that would do any good... thought the older boy. "I can try, but the most it will do is anger it," Midero reasoned, glancing back at Svin who gripped the shoulders of his brother out of fear.

"The damn thing already _is_!" He yelped again when it looked at him. He whimpered as he saw it snort. "Just _do_ something, brother! I don't want to die!"

Some guard you'll turn out to be, Midero thought grudgingly. He huffed through gritted teeth and attempted to steady his aim with his other hand. _Please_ , he began to plead, just work properly…? Just this once…? He pulled the trigger.

The pellet hit the creature right in the center of its head. It wasn't enough- the hide was too thick. The boar stamped the earth quickly and didn't hold back. With a blood-curdling roar, it charged at them.

This is it, they both thought, this is the end. They closed their eyes and prepared for the worst.

Suddenly, a giant yeti-like creature leaped down from the hill surrounding them. On its back was a man wearing a tattered green trench coat. The snowy beast had caught the creature and threw it away from them.

"Another," Svin cried out, looking at the furry creature in front of them. One giant monster was enough, they didn't need two.

"Would you stop being a coward," Midero snapped. "It's embarrassing," he hissed, glaring back at him.

Shots rang out as the man on the creature fired at the boar charging once again at the group. He slid off the papa sasquash when he was sure it had fallen. "Good boy, Squishy," he said as he patted the side of the beast with a fond smile. That soft look he had immediately faded when he looked at the two boys. "You two…," he growled, wagging a finger at them. "Should count yourselves lucky."

Svin squinted at the lanky rogue in front of him. His eyes widened when he recognized him. "F-father," he asked, backing away from the back of his older brother.

Squishy approached Midero and nuzzled his chest affectionately, softly whining. "Who else? Father's the only one around who own's a papa sasquash named 'Squishy'," the older brother commented, petting the side of the beast's head. He had met it once when he was six by accident playing with his father's old familiar cage. As it turned out, they were both big pushovers.

He thanked the furry monster for its strength silently. Like its owner, it had gotten older, but not any weaker, a fact he didn't take for granted. For one, he _did_ count himself lucky just then. If it weren't for the co-emperor's secret rounds, their lives would probably have been forfeit.

"Just what the hell did you think you were doing," the older man snapped, putting his hands on his hips. He shook his head, growling. "You know what- forget it. We'll talk about this when we get home." He looked at his familiar, empathizing internally how glad it was to see them safe. Instead, he harshly called out to it, "Squishy, let's go."

The beast's eyes opened and it swiftly turned to its owner. It grunted as he hoisted himself onto its back. They began to head towards the giant machine city.

"Umm… Brother…," Svin began, inching out from behind his taller sibling. "Why is father dressed like that…?"

Midero sighed and looked down. "Right, you don't know." He turned to face Svin. "It's something he does. He patrols the city dressed like that to keep a low profile."

Squishy stopped and the man riding it turned to look at the two teenagers. "Well? You lot coming," he wondered irritably. After all the trouble he went through to save them, he wasn't going to leave them out there defenseless.

The two looked at the emperor in disguise and then back at each other. They nodded, confirming each other's actions. They turned toward the other two and began to run after them.

* * *

A completely different man paced in front of them now. His hair was neatly combed and he wore a dark green cape with a magenta stripe lining the hem. His previous worn, filthy orange shirt had been replaced with a clean, neat red tunic. His pants even seemed well kept when compared to the tattered rags he wore earlier.

They stood in his room, not the throne room. It was large, larger than that room in fact. It was originally meant to be something else, but it was converted for his sake into the co-emperor's private chambers. It had a circular teal rug and they stood on in the center, Gascon being closest to the work desk behind him. The eldest son stood close to the bookshelf stuffed with blueprints and books while the youngest stood next to the coffee table in front of a magenta couch resembling the one in their uncle Marcassin's chambers.

"Really tell me, what was your plan," he asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow at the two reckless fools he called his sons. What were they thinking?! They could have been killed! Of all things, he certainly didn't want that on his conscience. It would have broken him in more ways than he could imagine to see them like that. It hurt just thinking about either of them _injured_.

"I- er…," Midero started to say. "Well, father… You see…" He couldn't find the words. Emperor Gascon could be unreasonably brash and stubborn at times. That frightened him. He hated confrontation. He idly fidgeted with his brown pants leg.

"I was going to hit it with a stick, see," Svin began to explain, holding an imaginary stick as if he were going to hit something with it. "I hoped with enough strength it would knock it out?"

Gascon stared at his youngest with widened disbelieving eyes. Had he raised an idiot? "So… you mean to tell me you thought a stick- a plain and simple stick- would be able to take down a giant boar…?" He felt the urge to laugh but held it back. "Pray tell, what was your back up plan if that didn't work, Svin," he breathed, rubbing his face with his hands and eventually running them through his hair.

"Midero would shoot it with his gun," the boy in question dryly answered. He looked at a now flustered and angry Midero and smirked at his older sibling.

He frowned, if not snarled at his younger brother. It was instances like those when the oldest looked almost exactly like the former emperor of Hamelin, Gascon often noticed. If only he had inherited his tenacity. This whole ordeal would have been put behind them before anyone got in any _real_ danger. "I told you to keep that a secret, didn't I?"

"Well, he was going to find out sooner or later, wasn't he? Are you always going to keep secrets like that," the younger bit back at him, glaring back at his older brother.

"Would you two just be quiet, already? I feel like I'm listening to an argument between me and myself, I swear," their father snapped, rubbing his temple with the heal of his palm. He glanced at Midero questioningly. "Where and how did you get a gun, Midero?"

"I found it. In here in your room, father. I was looking for ideas for a new invention and-," the oldest began to explain.

"Wait, wait, wait… You mean to tell me you took one of _my_ guns," the emperor asked, pressing a hand to his chest. "Why would you do that…? Do you even know how to use it? Its purpose?"

Midero looked down and shook his head. "It doesn't work sometimes… I tried fixing it, but…"

 _"Fixing it?!"_ He stomped up to the brute of a teen. If he were anyone else he would have been intimidated by the height of the boy. He knew his son- he wouldn't hurt a fly. "Whoever said it was broken," he snapped, looking him dead in the eye. "Hand it over," he demanded, holding out his hand.

When he saw which one of the guns his eldest had managed to pilfer, he started to laugh. He held the gun up in the light of the room, examining it. "So, this is the gun. The Pickpocket's Pistol… That brings back memories, I tell you," he said with a grin. He looked up at Midero and handed him back the gun. "It's not broken at all, you're just not using it right," he admitted.

"It- It isn't," he responded, shocked at his father's sudden change of attitude. "Don't you want it back, father?"

The emperor shook his head, smiling fondly at old memories. "No, no... I actually did debate on showing you how to use one for your own good. It's the kind of heirloom that's better off used rather than left sitting in a drawer or on a shelf." He smirked, looking down at the old gadget. "You seemed to have improved its firepower. I'd say you're fit for it." He slapped a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. "I'll show you its other features another time."

He heaved a sigh as he recalled the initial reason why they were there. He removed his hand and glared at the younger brother. "I've seemed to have gotten sidetracked," he fiercely reminded them before turning and walking to his original place in the room- in front of his work desk.

"What was the point of all this, anyhow," he interrogated, still confused by their sudden whim to throw themselves into unnecessary danger. "Why didn't you stop him, Midero?"

"I- I tried…," Midero answered, looking down shamefully. "He wouldn't listen to reason."

Gascon sighed, staring up at his son. "You're going to have to be stronger than this when it's your time to take the throne, Midero," he informed quietly. He dared not turn it into a yelling match- it always caused the older youth to shut down.

"And how can he, eh? How do you expect us to be strong when we can't take on anything? When we all we have are royal tutors and- and fancy dance lessons," Svin snapped as he hastily approached his father.

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the youngest. "You haven't been paying attention, have you, son? How many times have I told you- if you want it, you've got to go for it yourself. Do things your own way." He threw his hands out to the side, scoffing at the boy. "I expect you to find a way, but that doesn't mean getting yourselves _killed_."

"Doesn't it take that sometimes? Shouldn't we face large obstacles to get stronger? Why do you think I wanted to take on that boar, huh," Svin cried, gesturing to himself. "I can't protect anyone looking like this. I need to be more like Midero- big and strong… I feel like our bodies don't line up with our personalities, father! How am I supposed to do anything when I'm a scrawny little twat?!"

The emperor was silent for a moment as he studied his son. He recalled what he wanted to be- a guard. Even Hamelin's finest palace guards were as thin as he was. Gascon closed his eyes and sighed. "You think it's just about size and strength, do you," he questioned lowly. He took off the cape, revealing the reality of his own size. He wasn't exactly skin and bones, but he wasn't muscle-bound, either. "Take a good look. What do you see, Svin."

Svin blinked, confused. He knew what he looked like without the cape. Just what was he getting at? Then he remembered his history. He remembered the stories that he had been told as he went to sleep as a kid. Stories of his father's travels all over the world, facing many, _many_ , enemies. And he had survived them all- even if he wasn't alone through most of them. He didn't look like some muscle-bound hero, though. He was a man of average stature, of average height- his life halfway over. "You're thin… You're not like Midero…," he realized.

"Exactly." He smirked. "You'll never be your brother, and that's okay, Svin," he comforted, running a hand through Svin's hair. "You're nothing alike, you two. You should be proud of what makes you different because that's what makes you strong." He softly smiled at the boy in front of him who the servants lovingly called his twin. "You're stubborn and brave…" Gascon glanced at the older teenager who slowly looked up at them. "He's kindhearted and inventive."

He looked at the two of them. "To be strong means more than physical strength… It means doing what you can only do and do it well," he lectured enthusiastically, removing his hand from Svin's hair and clenching it into a fist in front of him. "It means having the heart to look out for each other. To be there when your brother-," he stopped and looked more at his oldest son. "Or your _people_ need you." He tilted his head at an unsure Midero as he put his hand down. "You can do that, can't you?"

Midero put his hand to his chin in thought, taking in his father's words. He looked up and nodded, smiling at the emperor. "I think I have what it takes. Thank you, father."

Gascon grinned, proud to hear his son's confidence. He was proud of both of them, no matter what. He just wished they didn't have to be in such a rush to grow up- especially the youngest one. "Promise you both won't try to do something so stupid again, will you?"

Svin chuckled lightheartedly and beamed up at his father. "I make no promises!" He was yanked into a hold with a playful, "Come here," from the man in front of him.

The bear of a brother walked toward them and smiled at the two. "I'll try to yank him out of danger if he does," he vowed. He found himself being pulled into a group hug by the emperor.

"You both drive me insane, you know," Gascon joked, laughing. He held them tighter, closer to him. They're okay… That's all that matters, he thought, closing his eyes. I hope they have nothing to fear in their future. My boys…

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **End of the drabble, it seems. I kind of thought at first that maybe Swaine would be a lone wolf after the end of the game but you can see how long that train of thought lasted. Let's just say it's in a ditch along with a lot of other things… in tiny pieces.**

 **I hope this wasn't too OOC on Swaine's end… Then again, he does seem like the kind of hard on the outside but soft on the inside kind of guy by even the game's standards. I don't know…**

 **Quick trivia: Svin's name is literally translated to "pig" in Danish and Midero's name is a play on the island Mindoro. There's a specific breed of pig known to live there.**

 **In any case, do review if you wish. I look forward to hearing your thoughts and critiques.**


	17. Pictures and Promises

**Author's Note:**

 **Back again with another drabble! This one has a couple of sources, one of them being a review left by moonbird on my one-shot Closure, or better put chapter 14 of the fic over on Fanfiction . net. The other is an idea I proposed to Wherever Girl a couple of weeks back.**

 **In any case, thank you all for your support. Thank you Snug on AO3! Just… thanks… To all of you reading this in the back who haven't said a word, thank you. (You'd not be reading this if you didn't like _something_ about this mess- gah! I'm tearing up just writing this.) **

**Anyway, on with the show!**

 **Disclaimer: This is chapter sixteen… It should be clear by now, but this is clearly a fan-created work! I own nothing but my ability to write this and the laptop I'm writing this on…**

~.~.~

They were on the way to Hamelin at last. It already had been a day since they departed. While the kids- and the fairy- ran around excitedly exploring the ship, their newest comrade laid lazily in a hammock of the crew's sleeping quarters admiring a necklace he found on the deck of the ship.

It was a locket, but not like the kind Oliver used. He wondered if he should open it to find its owner… was it one of the deck hands perhaps? It didn't seem like it. It was too polished, too new to the sea. The salty air would have tarnished it, dulled it. He quickly pocketed it in his tattered old coat when he heard footsteps approaching

"Swaine, have you seen my locket," the ever-suspicious familiar tamer questioned, walking down the stairs to the barracks. When he didn't answer from his place in the hammock, she stomped over to him. "Did you steal it?"

"Steal what," he looked up at her, confused by her sudden outburst. "You know I can do more than just steal, right?"

"So? How else would you end up with it," she retorted, crossing her arms.

"I don't even know what 'it' is, Esther," he shot back irritably, feigning ignorance. He didn't care much for her tone.

"I'm talking about my locket, Swaine." She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Where is it?"

"Oh, this old thing?" He tossed her the locket he had been admiring. "For your information, I _found_ it. I couldn't even sell it for a good amount if I wanted to." He frowned criticizingly. "What would I gain from stealing a worthless trinket?"

She caught it and shot him an insulted scowl. "It's not worthless! It's special! It has a picture of my parents and me to remind me of them. It makes me feel like I have a purpose for being here- so they can rest easy." She inspected the locket carefully. She opened it and heaved a sigh of relief. The image was still there.

The thief smirked as he caught a glimpse of the picture. "You should take better care of your treasure," he remarked slyly.

She looked up and glared at the man in the hammock. "It's _my_ locket! If I lose it, then it's _my_ fault," she snapped, pointing at him irritably.

His eyes narrowed in response. So much for gratitude. "Well, I'm sorry, _your highness_. I'll leave it to get lost next time if that's the tone you're going to take." With an annoyed huff, he put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

Esther looked down again, admiring the kind faces of her parents staring back at her. The thief's snarky remark reminded her to think about how her father would react to her attitude. She bowed her head and sighed, looking at the relaxed adult in the hammock. She approached him slowly. "I'm sorry. I guess I overreacted…" She looked back down at the locket then back at him. He had opened one eye to acknowledge her.

"It's just that- you're a thief and- well… This locket is really important to me." She looked back down at it, smiling at the memento of her parents. "It reminds me of home," she softly admitted. "If anything happened to it..." She didn't need to say.

"I get it…," the thief replied, his full attention once again diverted to her. "Anything to remind you of home, right?" He smirked, looking at the hammock above him. "Leaving home can be tough- trust me, I know." He took the gun out from his belt and admired it. It was purely Hamelin in style. Aside from the moniker he took up, it was the only thing he had that reminded him of his roots. "That's why you should take care of it," he reminded her as he tilted his head towards the young familiar tamer.

She nodded and closed the locket, putting it around her neck. She sighed and turned away from the thief. "Whatever you say, Swaine." While his advice made sense, she still couldn't find it in her to believe him. His profession was too shady. "I still don't know if we can trust you…"

With that, the thief turned back to look at his preferred weapon of choice. "Truthfully, I wouldn't trust me either…," he muttered as she turned to leave, recalling everything he had done until meeting the three of them. He had become quite the professional con-man. He had stolen, lied, cheated, and even sold people out just to survive- much of that prior to his restraint being taken from him. After that, it was like he went mad- like he had lost control.

He was envious of her for having something like that to hold onto. It was one of the reasons why he wanted to keep the picture of Marcassin he had taken from their possession. It reminded him of home, of where he needed to be. He had slipped into a thoughtless mess bombarded by so many distractions, giving in to so many tempting thoughts. When he heard they were going to Hamelin, something that had long since ceased to function flared to life: a sense of purpose, a goal he could focus on- his sense of responsibility for once overriding the lack of restraint in his heart.

That picture… when he saw it everything became clear. It anchored him to reality. In all the thoughtlessness it was the one thing, for that brief moment in time, that made sense.

He had been so relieved to finally think straight, yet so frightened. He was afraid that moment of clarity was temporary. If he fell back into the madness, he wanted to at least have something to cling to. To his joy, his ability to think his actions through, to reason, to be able to attempt to strike a deal with the group, to be able to connect consequences with whatever he would say or do was liberating. He liked doing as he pleased, but he still wanted to think about what he was doing in the first place.

It was only when he realized the permanence of his newfound sense of restraint that he parted with the picture. It was only when he had convinced them that he knew where Marcassin was, that he could get them to Hamelin that he gave it up. He was happy to be able to even do that.

That didn't change his past, though. It didn't change everything he had done, or who he had been before he left home. Who would ever trust a thief? Who would ever be proud of a magicless prince? This journey he had begun… he had a feeling he'd find the answer to his questions one way or another on it.

He felt the ship come to a halt and his curiosity stirred. He put the gun away and swung out of the hammock, heading for the deck. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized they had stopped off on the shipwrecked lined shores of the southern Summerlands.

He walked up to the others, standing next to the plank they were about to venture down. "What's going on…," he groaned at the unexpected detour.

"Look who's up and at 'em," the loudmouthed fairy announced, jumping.

"So you've finally decided to join us? Gees, you're so lazy," Esther chastised, glaring at him from the side.

"I'm only lazy because you lot seem to be doing fine without me," he returned, crossing his arms. "If we were attacked by a couple of sea monsters, I'd quickly lend a hand."

She snorted, turning to face Oliver, not before muttering, "Sure you would," under her breath.

"Cut it out, you two," the young wizard warned, looking between them. "We've got a bounty to defeat!"

Swaine untangled his arms and tilted his head curiously at Oliver. "A bounty, huh? Something causing trouble?"

"If you were up here, you'd know about it," Esther complained, taking a turn to cross her arms. It earned an irritated glare from the man next to her.

"Would you both stop fighting?! You're really getting on my wick," the fairy ordered the two, tired of hearing them bicker.

Oliver nodded at the thief, ignoring the squabble. "We've got to fight that thing," he answered, pointing at the giant column-like creature standing in the way of an opening. He excitedly smiled at the others. "Then we can explore," he cheered. "I wonder if there's buried treasure," he wondered enthusiastically.

"There could be," Swaine answered, shrugging with a smirk. The idea of treasure, preferably the useful kind, sounded good to him. Considering where they were, there was a good chance that that was the case.

"Or maybe some untouched ruins. I think there's a place called the Vault of Tears here," Esther recalled, placing a hand on her chin. "Something tells me we should wait until later, though…," she warned, suddenly unsure about the whole idea.

"For once, I agree," the thief interjected, frowning. They shouldn't just go traipsing off into old decrepit ruins when they didn't need to. "We have places to be, remember?"

The redhead nodded at them both. "So, let's get the bounty and explore the rest." He smiled excitedly at the others again. "That shouldn't hurt, right?"

* * *

The fight drug on. The creature was nigh impenetrable. They kept chipping away at it and in return, it did the same. In some instances, one blow nearly knocked two of them out. They had just barely survived. In instances like that, Oliver and Esther's healing magic often did their little group good.

By the time they had beaten it each of them was exhausted. They all sat and caught their breath, circled around the entrance. Even the fairy took a moment to lie back and rest in the sand. After a moment, Oliver fished out a few iced coffees, food and healing potions. "Anyone hungry," he offered.

They all took up what they each needed the most- though it was obvious the fight had built up an appetite in all of them. After they finished eating and drinking their fill, the wizard got up and brushed himself off. "You guys ready to go exploring," he encouraged excitedly.

"You sure don't run out of energy, do you," Swaine noticed, smirking. It was something to be admired, this kid's sense of adventure. It allowed him to ignore Esther's suspicious glance.

Oliver laughed before turning to walk through the opening naturally formed by the land mass, causing the others to scramble to their feet.

"Oi! Ollie-boy! Where ya going," the fairy called, realizing the group was leaving him behind.

They proceeded to explore the area. It reminded the young wizard of the rolling hills just outside of Ding Dong Dell. Everything except the creatures that was.

The four had accidentally stumbled across a band of turban myths. For a moment the creatures stared curiously at the three humans and a fairy.

They turned hostile the moment the group began to walk around them. They sent out a volley of fire attacks- a wall, waves, and even a spire of fire singed the four. Swaine found himself narrowly avoiding the flames, barely keeping himself from getting too badly burned.

The group attempted various attacks out of self-defense. They called on their familiars to protect them. They had taken down one by chance, but that constantly left them open to being attacked by their flames and staffs. It was amazing how hard the small creatures were on them.

"I can't go on… it's just… too _hot_ ," Esther moaned, almost passing out. She shook her head and attempted to heal herself. The two that were left took the opportunity to fling another volley of fire at her, effectively knocking her out.

"Esther," both Swaine and Oliver shouted. They had immediately focused on the fallen girl. The two of them glanced at each other and exchanged a nod, silently deciding to protect her from further harm.

"Are ya going to be able to get 'em, mun," the fairy shouted from the sidelines. "Tiny tots shouldn't be this tough, or I ent Lord High Lord of the Fairies," Drippy taunted, jumping in and throwing a couple of healing orbs at the two.

The thief rolled his eyes as he picked up the orb, instantly feeling a bit of relief from all of the burns. The fairy was helpful but he just wouldn't shut up. He sent out Vemahl, the dumbelemur to put up a fight.

Oliver had run out of magic healing them, so it was up to him and Bitworl, the mighty mite, to fight on his behalf.

The two managed to take one down but not before a wayward spire hit the young wizard. Already worn out, he laid on the ground, quickly losing consciousness. "Ollie-boy- mmph," was the last thing he heard as the fairy was knocked out by the final turban bound enemy.

It was just that turban myth and Swaine. That deceptively adorable fire spewing bandit and the horribly underprepared, but underestimated thief. He was their last hope. Their last remaining chance. He had to save them. He couldn't afford to run, he couldn't afford to abandon these three. They were his ticket back to Hamelin. Even so, even if he could convince Sindbah to leave without them, he just couldn't live with himself if he let them down. They had saved him from madness. They had accepted him into their group. He owed them that much. Even if they had the fairy, the other two were still just kids. They still had a lot to live for.

With this determination, he found his stamina replenished as he stared down the tiny turban fire mage. He felt the adrenaline rush, the familiar instinct to protect his own screaming at him. He called Vemahl to action. With a shout, he had the beast unleash a volley of ferocious swipes on the creature.

He timed it just right- the fire-based attack- and had the lemur avoid the flames. He quickly fished out a healing potion from Oliver's bag, popping the bottle into his mouth as he narrowly avoided the flames of another attack. He kept repeating this process until the final turban myth fell.

He collapsed on the ground, the lemur rushing up to comfort him in their victory. "Good job, Vemahl…," he breathed, stroking the top of the creature's head. He smiled for a moment, thankful to have survived.

Then a thought occurred to him- they still needed medical attention. They were a good distance away from the boat. Maybe if he went and got help…? He shook his head, realizing it was better to stay with them rather than leave them all alone. He called Vemahl back and began to consider his options. He looked at the two kids and seriously began to wonder if he could support their combined body weight and carry them all the way back. It was times like this when he really wished he still had Gunthur to do some of the heavy lifting.

He pulled out his gun again and looked at it, wondering if there was something he could use it for. The area was mostly grass, right? He looked at them and smirked. It seemed to be the only other option. He picked up Oliver and managed to haphazardly carry him, piggyback style. He picked up the fairy and draped him over his shoulder, Oliver's shoulder acting as a sort of barrier to keep the rotund Drippy from falling off. Last, he shot the grappling hook feature of his gun at Esther's top collar.

He trudged to what looked like an enclave up ahead. There, he reasoned, he'd find shelter to treat their wounds. Perhaps he'd even find some natural remedy to treat burns. He felt his body try to collapse under the weight of his companions and the exhaustion from saving the group. He wouldn't let it- his determination to prove himself useful, to repay them for their generosity was too strong.

He never counted himself entirely fortunate, not since he left home. Joining them must have improved that because he had stumbled across a community of forest dwellers. "Help," he pleaded, releasing his grip on the gun. He stumbled forward, almost falling on his stomach, just barely catching himself. He carefully laid Oliver down and placed Drippy next to him. Again, he found himself sitting out of sheer exhaustion.

The forest dwellers approached him and his party. He looked up at the simply dressed people, a silent campaign for aid. When they tried to treat him first, he brushed them aside. "No, take care of them first. They need it more," he instructed exasperatedly, looking at the others.

The tribe exchanged glances and began to treat the others, applying burn remedies and bandages. When they were through, the chief of the dwellers approached Swaine with a straight face.

The thief looked up from his place on the ground, beaten and worn, his arm resting on a bent knee. Despite his exhaustion, his concern was evident. "Well," he asked impatiently, eager to hear the outcome.

"Damages… not too bad. Friends healing," he reported. He raised an eyebrow at the lanky man who had saved them. "Healing, you need," he asked him, noticing the burns through the singed holes of his coat and shirt.

Swaine shook his head and looked up at the chief. He smiled gratefully, leaning against the raised section of land. "I'll be fine…," he responded, nodding up at the leader. "Thank you."

The chief nodded, accepting his gratitude. He let him be and the tribe returned to their daily routines.

The thief felt himself close his eyes for a moment. He was so tired. The last thing he thought about was his friends and eventuality of seeing his brother. " _Marcassin_ ," he whispered, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When he awoke, the others were still sound asleep. They didn't look like they had budged a bit since he passed out. He figured that was to be expected. They had just gone through one hell of an ordeal.

It wouldn't be long, now. He was finally returning home- even if the place was seemingly in shambles. It was a comforting but terrifying thought. With this in mind, he got up and took the picture from Oliver's bag.

He leaned against a tree of the forest dwelling, admiring the picture of Marcassin. He carefully stroked the side of his younger brother's cheek, smiling. "I guess I'm forever fated to be the older brother, even if you're not here, aren't I, Marcassin," he asked the image before looking at his fellow companions he had just saved.

His eyes widened when he saw the desert girl stir, slowly sitting up and rubbing her sore forehead. "Hng…," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them. She slowly looked around. "Where- where are we…," she wondered when she realized they were no longer in the grassy plains of Shipwreck Shore.

He smirked. "So, you've finally decided to join me? How lazy can you be, Esther," he shot back at her. His smirk turned into a cheeky grin.

"Swaine…? What happened-," she stopped short, wincing a little, earning a more concerned look from the thief than he'd like to admit.

"To put it simply: you lot got torched. I just barely managed to get us here, as it is," he informed, approaching her, the picture still in hand.

She looked up at Swaine in shock, blinking as she turned her head away from him. "Y-you- You saved us? _You_ ," she stammered, looking back at him with her mouth agape.

"I keep telling you, Esther. I know how to do more than just _steal_ ," he snarled, crossing his arms. He tapped his foot and shook his head. She never was going to get over that was she? He saw her focus on the picture.

"I thought you gave that back to Oliver," she said, pointing at the picture. "Why do you have it?"

His eyes drifted down to the picture he held and he raised it to look at it again. "I made a promise once. Let's just say this picture reminds me of it," he divulged, half smirking at the image of the sage.

Esther looked back to the rest of the enclave pensively. She took out her locket and looked at it, running a hand across the silver metal. "A promise, huh?" She recalled what she had told him about its contents, why she joined Oliver on that journey. She wanted her family to rest easy, to not live in fear of the Dark Djinn. "What was the promise…," she curiously prodded, hesitantly looking up at Swaine.

"It's… It's personal. It's nothing of your concern, alright," he avoided. He didn't want to make things more complicated than they were already. "It's the kind that I plan to see through to the end. That's all you need to know."

She didn't try to pry any more than that. His tone indicated he wouldn't budge. For now, that really was all she needed to know about it. She nodded and smiled up at him. "Well, if it's that important to you, then you should keep the picture."

Swaine raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "It was really important that you get it back earlier. Why give it to me?"

She giggled and continued to smile at the thief. "Because you're coming with us, right? We'll still be able to see it when we need to." She looked down. Suddenly her smile was apologetic in nature. "Besides, I was really rude to you before… Thank you for finding my locket."

He nodded, accepting her apology disguised as gratitude. "You're welcome, Esther," he breathed as he pocketed the picture. "And thank you."

He grinned when Oliver and Drippy started to stir. They both seemed to wake up at the same time, both with the same amount of confusion the bard had. "Easy, you two. That battle was intense," Swaine eased, extending a cautionary arm.

"How did we…," the wizard began. He remembered the last person standing was the thief. "Swaine...? Did you bring us here all by yourself?"

"Yeah. You're welcome, by the way. You're not light," he moaned irritably, rubbing his side out of slightly suggested delayed pain.

"Bunting, you think ya got enough magic in you to give everyone a quick refresher," the fairy yawned and stretched, seemingly the only one fit enough to immediately get up.

Oliver nodded, grinning as he looked at everyone else. "I should have plenty now that I've rested!" He took out his wand and cast his healing spells on all of them, healing what was left of their wounds. As a result, the two kids eagerly leaped to their feet, ready and raring to go.

The fairy skipped to the exit. "Let's get a move on, Ollie-boy," Drippy called.

"Before you do all that, don't you owe these kind forest dwellers some gratitude? They _did_ help heal your wounds, you know," Swaine admitted, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. He took a side glance at Oliver who was halfway towards Drippy already.

"Huh," the young wizard grunted as he turned towards the man. He looked behind the thief and noticed the people in simple clothes and tribal paint. He smiled and turned to Esther who shared a nod with him. The group approached the tribe chief, the only one wearing more face paint than the rest. Oliver bowed and Esther nodded gratefully. "Thank you, sir."

The chief nodded. "Heal well. Safe journeys," he answered, glad to see their spirits returned and they recovered quickly and well. Before they left, the chief patted Swaine on the shoulder. "Keep safe," he advised the thief.

It held two meanings to the rogue: keep himself safe as well as the others. Once again, the responsibility of the older brother weighed on his shoulders. He owed them that much.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Welcome to the end. More non-romantic Swaine and Esther interaction! Yay!**

 **Why do I keep writing Swaine all protective…? I'm noticing a pattern here. I hope I'm not screwing up his character. Oh well. I just hope you guys liked it.**

 **So yeah. The suggestion I made to Wherever Girl involved the rare chance Swaine's the last one standing. (Psst! Wherever Girl! If you want to do that idea still, I don't mind! You'd probably do it better than me!)**

 **Also, I wondered when he took the picture back from Oliver. He just pulls it out like he had it on him the whole time to show the Emperor later on. I thought it would be interesting to connect the events a little.**

 **Do review! Thoughts, critiques, and suggestions are welcome!**


	18. Nature's Melodies

**Author's Note:**

 **I'm writing about the mandolin again! While I don't have any specific music suggestions, I do have some sources of inspiration (See the end of the fic). I don't think you'll need any accompaniment, though. It's not really about the music… it's about emotion.**

 **Anyway, I know it's short, but I still hope it's just as good as any of my other pieces. I enjoyed writing this and I hope you do, too. Enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I do own a love for music, though. And obscure string instruments, apparently.**

~.~.~

The sun began to rise over the continent of Autumnia. The deep blue of twilight would soon give way to the orange and pink of the morning sky. As the group camped further down the hill of a cliff, a lone, lanky form hiked up to the edge, a musical instrument on hand. He reached the top of the incline and took a moment to take in the sight of the coast, to breath in the fresh air of the sea, and to feel the strong winds found at only that height brush by him, his green coat helpless to their current.

If there was any time to play, to translate any and all stress he had thus far into something constructive, it was now. He had decided to bring the instrument with him, this time. It gave him another outlet besides tinkering with his guns when they set up camp. They had taken yet another break from fighting through the Ivory Tower after a couple of near-death experiences. This time, they decided to explore the area outside of Hamelin and get some much-needed training hunting bounties. At this point, he and everyone else was frustrated with the whole ordeal of getting to the top _without_ nearly dying.

Everyone had their ways of coping with it- this was one of his. As another gust of wind blew past him, he readied his mandolin, taking a moment to tune it after letting it sit so long. He exhaled heavily as he strummed the first anguished notes.

There wasn't a rhythm, there wasn't even a song he was aiming for. Every note was an argument, a complaint, a yell of distress. He didn't pay attention to the melody. He didn't care. He just let whatever issue he had, whatever negative emotion out onto the strings of the instrument.

To the listener, if there were any, the tune sounded disjointed, yet, paradoxically, melodious. It sounded like a fight, like two people shouting at each other. It sounded like someone trying to summon a great beast with little success. It sounded like that very creature, injured and miserable, tragically wailing in pain.

He sighed and hunched a little more than usual as he expended the last of his negative energy. He gasped for air as if he had just finished a fight, catching his breath and recomposing himself. It may have done nothing to null the cause of his stress, but it proved an effective way to purge his pent-up frustration.

He wasn't satisfied with his playing. He recalled what he had just put to sound and abhorred it. He felt sorry for his poor mandolin, having to endure such an awful performance. He felt even worse when he recalled that _he_ was the one who played it. He had to fix this…

He looked out at the sea again, the orange light of the sun just beginning to show greeting the former prince. He smiled as the cool wind began to shift in temperature. With it, he found the energy to take up the instrument once more- to give himself a good enthusiastic jolt of positive energy.

With another breath, more relaxed, more aware of his actions, he began to play again. The power he had fed into the butchered tune before was there. Its source had changed from the rogue's internal frustration to the inspiration and awe he felt admiring the beauty of the morning scenery. When the wind brushed by, he fed the feeling into the tune. He imbued the sound with the warmth he started to feel from the morning sun.

The clanging of creatures below amused him and the music took on a light playful tone for a moment. Then the sky shifted color, the sea glowing as the first spark of the day began to glimmer over its surface. He thought of the insane notion that somehow, he had the power to decide whether the day should start. Let it, he thought, and with a series of powerful strokes, he encouraged the new day to begin, summoning the sun, guiding it into the sky with each note. He laughed at the madness of it, shaking his head as he continued to play.

For balance, the sad, neglected structures around him allowed him to shift to a softer more heartfelt score. The melancholy feel of the tune now contrasted with the strong emphasis of calling forth the sun drastically. His music was aimless but ambitious, just like before. Just like him.

His coat flew back from a particularly strong gust of air, and he imagined how grand he would have looked if he had bothered to get newer clothes, or even just a newer coat. With a grin, he allowed that into the tune as well, the soft sad notes of before suddenly being replaced by energetic grandiose harmonies that followed the pattern of the wind.

When he felt the urge to complete the seemingly endless piece, he looked at the ocean again and its deceptive calmness. He watched the waves roll in and decided to end it the same way they moved, ebbing back and forth, strong then gentle until he stopped altogether. He had felt each note in his soul. He had translated the sublime beauty of what was around him into sound. With each chord, he felt more at peace with himself.

He smirked at the orange and pink sunrise, the sun now in full view in the distance. He took the mandolin and looped it back over his shoulder as he took in the scenery once more. He looked down at the instrument again, happy to have brought it along. He let out a content breath and decided to sit down and listen to the ocean, to the mechanical creatures that inhabited the area, to nature's own endless melody.

He had accomplished regaining a sense of balance, a sense of tranquility. Everything was right again.

He'd head back down to rejoin the others soon. For now, this was all he needed: the sound of nature, the peacefulness of it all. Just a moment to relax alone.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Okay, so as I said, this is inspired by some songs- the main culprit being** _ **Play Me Like a Violin**_ **by Stephen (The more chaotic parts are inspired by the instrumental part of the song),** _ **Hollow**_ **by Jome, and** _ **Restless Sea**_ **by Louis Futon ft. Opia. The part where Swaine imagines himself kickstarting the day and summoning the sun? That's inspired partly by the movie** _ **Rock-a-Doodle**_ **of all things.**

 **All in all, this is supposed to be a drabble of pure emotion being worked out through something enjoyable and wordless, which is why Swaine doesn't say anything in this. I hope you all liked it.**

 **If you have any thoughts, say them! I hope this was a welcome experience (and experiment).**


	19. Thief Prince

**Author's Note:**

 **Am I ever going to stop writing for this character?! Hahaha… Probably. Eventually. It's bound to happen one day. Anyway, I'd like to think of this as the more improved version of the drabble "A Brother's Bond" I did a little bit ago. It's kind of a series of events this one.**

 **Anyway. I hope you all enjoy it.**

 **Disclaimer: Yuni owns absolutely nothing here. She's just taking what she's given and elaborating on it.**

~.~.~

Little prince Gascon, only seven at the time, giggled as he laid on the floor, skimming the pages of an old storybook filled with images of castles, epic heroes, and elaborate forts. He had grown tired of challenging himself with paper crafts, bored of his puzzles, and lacked the interest to practice his mandolin. He wanted to make something else. Something big. He propped his head up in his hands as he began to think about all the possibilities.

There were always the building blocks- he could build elaborate towers with those. He had actually made an elaborate puzzle once with them, just for the fun of it. He shook his head. He wanted to try something _new_. He thought of all the neat contraptions that he saw often whenever he followed his father to the lower levels of the palace. He thought of what it would be like to make things like that.

He looked at his tiny hands and flexed his fingers. Would he be able to create anything like that? He barely understood how half of the stuff worked. Maybe one day…

He frowned and looked back down at the book. It was open to picture of a large fort, a place for soldiers to hide away and defend, a safe zone. He loved the idea so much, he often found little hiding spots in the castle. One of the things he loved the most was trying to scare the guards. Most of the time, he failed, but that didn't stop the guards from laughing at his often-botched attempts. There were even some that gave him pointers on how to really sneak around. Those guards were the best ones.

Forts… He imagined having his own fort, despite living in a metal cased palace. He wanted to build his own. It would be an impenetrable fortress. It would be _his_ impenetrable fortress. He'd stand at the top commanding an army of men to defend it, much like he would if he became king. The difference was, this fortress would be built by his own two hands.

That was it. He was going to build a fort! He had to procure the materials for it… He looked at his four-post bed. He would use the sheets and the two posts furthest from the wall to make the top, the bed would be just part of the fort, a higher level, he imagined. He quickly yanked off the top sheet and tied it to the posts. Now he just needed something to tie it onto… He spied his chair in front of his vanity and decided it would do, imagining it as his lookout tower as he tied one corner to it.

It still wasn't complete, his fort. He looked over at the square box of blocks and pushed it to his fort. It wasn't high enough. He looked around the room again and found nothing to tie the other corner off. His fort would remain unfinished.

Suddenly his stomach grumbled and he looked down. Time for a snack, he wagered. He had built up quite an appetite. Rations! Every good fort had a supply of rations. He _had_ to have his own stash!

He bolted out of his room and down to the royal kitchen. One of the royal chefs, a thin woman with blond hair was preparing part of their evening meal. Next to her was a plate of steamy golden rolls and a pile of black truffles. He never really tried one. They always served it with his and his father's evening meals, his mother being away all the time for some reason. He never got to see her and often forgot what she was even like. Nevertheless, he had always wondered if the truffles were just for show or to be eaten.

When he looked around, he saw a large steel pot, the exact size he needed to complete the fort. It would also serve as his ration container when he managed to get some. He grabbed the pot from the shelf and set it off to the side so he could grab it as he ran out. He peered over the side of the counter with glee, grinning a toothy smile from ear to ear.

"Prince Gascon," the girl yelped in surprise. She looked down at the little royal who decided to play the cute act. He swayed back and forth, shifting nervously in his tiny gilded red coat.

"Please, miss… can I have a snack," he begged, looking up.

She shook her head and went back to her work. "Your Highness, you must wait until dinner or you'll spoil your appetite." She ignored the pout he now sported. "Go on, run along and play."

Well, that was just brilliant. It seemed he'd have to be quick about it. He watched as she prepared the food and waited until he was sure she was distracted. When she looked away, he grinned again and grabbed four rolls and a truffle for the road. As he grabbed the truffle she spotted him.

"Hey, put those back you little thief," she shouted as he began to run to the cooking pot and deposit his ill-gotten gain. He snickered as he grabbed the handles, its cumbersome dimensions making it hard to run. He had to lean back to keep his speed up.

"I said stop! Prince Gascon, get back here this instant," she shouted as she gave chase. She ran past him as he ducked into a corner.

He laughed quietly as he ran around the corner to his room. He popped a roll into his mouth and tied the sheet to one of the handles. Finally, his fort was complete. Now all that was left was to make his army. He finished eating the roll and decided to try the truffle as a victory meal. When he bit into it, the flavor was so overwhelming that it almost made him cry. He spat it out immediately, wiping his poor tongue. Why did his father like those things? He threw it on the ground and glared at the fungus so prized by the Pig Iron Empire.

"I name you…," he began, pointing at the mushroom. "Prisoner Foul." He grimaced, the taste still lingering in his mouth. He gathered his toys and began assigning names and ranks to them. It was perfect. He crawled underneath the sheets with another bun in his mouth and pulled over a lamp, lighting it so he could look at a book filled with simple machine schematics. He would one day build something amazing.

There was a knock at his door and he shut off the lamp. He picked up the toy sword near his ramshackle fort and approached the door cautiously. "Who goes there," he playfully warned. "You are about to enter fort Gascon borders!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize my palace had such a formidable fort," a deep voice called back. It was his father, the Emperor. "May I speak with you, son."

Hesitantly, he opened one of the pink doors and peaked around it. He looked up to see a slightly displeased regal face. "Father," he quietly asked as he stepped back, opening the door more as he stepped around it.

"Gascon… You really shouldn't steal. It's unbecoming of a prince," he told his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. The boy looked down guiltily.

"I was going to give the pot back," he explained, looking up with his eyes. "It's not stealing if you're going to give it back."

The emperor raised an eyebrow at the child. "Oh, but you cannot give back the food you stole. You've eaten it. Even if you haven't, it's no longer fresh." He lent his hand out to the hall as he instructed the small boy. "You will apologize to the chef before dinner, is that clear, Gascon?"

The child looked up slowly and quietly nodded. He glanced back at his fort slightly and then his face lit up. "Father! Father," he eagerly shouted, almost jumping up and down. "Look at my neat fort! Built it myself, I did," he showed off confidently, gesturing to the makeshift hidey-hole behind him

"No need to shout, son. You have my attention." He looked back at the mess of sheets stretched over the pot, block container and chair. He had certainly put a bit of thought into it, though it was far from the armaments of the workshops. "Gascon, it's certainly a good start… but…," he hesitated.

The kid turned around to look up at his father. "But what," he wondered, tilting his head. "Is it because it's so weak?" He looked down, aware it wasn't a fort like in his storybook. "I know that…"

The emperor stepped back and shook his head. "No, no… It could just use some reinforcement," he advised, his statement immediately contradicted by the pan falling in on the fort. They both winced when it hit the ground and allowed half of the fort to cave in.

"Aww… Goodbye, fort…," he disappointedly sighed. He turned back to his father with a downcast head.

"Chin up, son. Even in defeat, a Hamelin prince does not show weakness," he reminded his son, taking a hand and lightly guiding the boy's head up. "I'm sure you and your fort had a good run. You should take pride in that," he said as he withdrew his hand. Gascon nodded, though his disappointed frown still remained. The emperor turned and looked back at the heir to the throne. "Come, now. It is time for your evening magic training."

Though silent, the boy nodded again and began to follow his father to his private chambers to hopefully strengthen his magic abilities.

* * *

He had never particularly liked the newest addition to his family during the first months of the newborn's life. It seemed all and any attention had been diverted to little Prince Marcassin. He started to resent him even more for showing signs of magic use. All that practice since he was six! And for what? For five whole years, he could barely muster up a tiny spark of light from a wand. It wasn't even enough to light a fire!

It wasn't the law about sages becoming emperors. He started to not really care about all that, anyway. It became rather dull- listening to his father drone on and on about politics, history, and _somehow_ , science. How could one make _science_ , one of his favorite subjects, seem so… so _boring_? The only part of his lessons that weren't dull were the combat training portions that had seemingly replaced his magic training. Perhaps it became apparent that he'd never be able to cast spells. And for a time, that was fine with him.

 _"You have to go all out in both defense and attack at the right moment, Gascon. Right when it really matters. If you are able to do that, you will have no issue standing your ground- even in the most harrowing of circumstances,"_ the eleven-year-old recalled his teacher's recent lesson. He wasn't entirely wrong, he reasoned. It was a sound strategy.

No, he resented Marcassin for becoming the singular focus of his father's eye. Whenever Marcassin seemed to show a different sign of what magical spells he was capable of, his father would stop everything- lessons, talks, and even meetings just to catch it.

When Gascon showed promise of being an inventor, so what? There were thousands of inventors in Hamelin, literally. He was nothing special, compared to Marcassin. Whenever he had a new gadget or design he wanted to show, Marcassin would steal his thunder. He began to feel quite ignored. He began to feel like yesterday's news.

He began to feel the weight of the crushing truth that he wasn't needed- that if Marcassin's powers were to become more focused, Gascon would be thrown out like an outdated piece of tech.

 _I'm here, father._ He had thought as he stood in the doorway of the nursery. He was summoned by his father, for what he didn't know. The man was cooing over the baby in the crib. It was kind of amusing to see such a strong figure so enthralled by a baby. He would have laughed if he weren't so bitter.

The emperor turned around and nodded curtly at the prince. "It has come to my attention that you haven't been able to spend as much time with your little brother as you should, Gascon," he announced. Their father looked down at the now sleeping infant. He looked back at the confused boy. "I want you two to have a healthy relationship. You are brothers, after all." He solemnly nodded, sealing his next order. "You are to spend an hour each day watching him until I say so."

"An hour," the eldest prince exclaimed, flinching. "Don't we have servants to watch him," he sulked, crossing his arms. Between lessons and training, there was already so little of his precious personal time before being forced to bed by his father or that mentioned help. Another chunk of his day, gone- given to the little brat that had completely overshadowed him, replaced him in his father's heart.

"The servants are not his family," his father reminded him harshly. "You must remember, Gascon- in the end, you are his older brother, his only brother. There may be a time when you are all he has- when he is all you have." The emperor walked up to his eldest son and looked down at the spoiled eleven-year-old. "It is best to build this bond now through the lesson of responsibility for yourself and others." With that, he left him with the cryptic message.

The prince approached the cradle and peered down at the still sleeping Marcassin. He didn't know what all the fuss the emperor was making for. He looked like a normal baby. He looked like any baby he'd see a mother carry whenever he followed his father into the city on errands. While his lectures were dull, the emperor believed in a hands-on approach when it came to knowing the kingdom- one of the more effective approaches with the boy.

He stuck his nose up literally at the infant resting peacefully in the crib. So what if he showed signs of one day wielding magic. It didn't mean he'd be any good at controlling it… Maybe they'd both fail at obtaining the title of sage. Maybe his father would stop doting on his infant brother and treat him with equal praise.

He just stared down at the curled-up baby with his thumb in his tiny mouth. "Don't do that, you'll mess up your teeth," he whispered harshly, recalling a parent in the city reprimanding their own child. Agitatedly, but gently, he reached down and pulled Marcassin's arm, effectively removing the thumb without waking him. When he looked to the side and back again, the thumb was back in the small mage's mouth. "Damn it," he hissed, looking around for something to replace the thumb. When he found nothing, he just shrugged exaggeratedly and glared at his little brother. "Fine, ruin your teeth! See if I care," he chastised him quietly. For the next hour, he decided to sit in the chair opposite the crib.

He spent a lot of that hour of his days like that. Marcassin would be already napping and he'd have nothing to do. By the end of the second week, he began carrying books on machinery and weapon designs with him to read as the little brother slept. He had to give him that, the baby gave him some time to quietly read.

Then one day, in the middle of his little reading session as he waited for his father to fetch him, a cry from the crib sounded. He leaned away from the loud wails of his younger brother, shocked at the noise. He placed his book on lock picking tools down and got up to check on him.

He carefully picked up the baby clad in light purple pants and a blue shirt. He didn't stink, so he was still clean. He recalled his father saying that he had been fed already. Was he really hungry again? He carefully held him placing a hand under the one-year-old's bottom and holding him to the side of his chest. "Ssh… ssh," he hushed him, patting his back lightly. He frowned when he wouldn't quiet down… maybe he _was_ hungry. He called on a servant after laying him down to bring whatever Marcassin usually ate- he didn't know. He was hardly around when they fed him.

Hardly around… like their mother. He looked down after the servant left, looking at the child who had managed to stand on his feet and lean against the crib, still balling, red in the face. Right now, he was all little Marcassin had. It would be a few minutes until the servant returned with the toddler's food.

Until then, he'd have to find another way to soothe his brother. He wandered down the hall to his room and picked up the mandolin he had received when he was seven. He wasn't spectacular but he had quite a bit of practice. Maybe he could distract his future sage of a brother with a tune. He smirked as he quickly tuned the mandolin and ran down the hall with it.

He opened the door to a still unsatisfied infant prince and smiled gently despite the discomfort in his ears. "Oh, Marcassin," he softly called, holding up his instrument. "I know you're hungry, but food might be a while," he said in a sing-song manner, beginning to strum a pleasant tune. "Until then, me and Lucy here, we're going to entertain you, alright," he hummed, grinning as he heard his brother's sobs slowly cease.

With that, he neared his crib and played a lullaby his father used to sing to him. He felt a warm feeling in his chest when he saw the little tyke smile. The baby laughed as he listened to his brother's song, though he had no idea what the older boy was singing. When the song ended, Marcassin awkwardly reached up and pressed the bridge of Gascon's nose and right cheek. "Bra-bra," he named him with what limited vocabulary he had.

The older prince couldn't help but giggle. At least he knew who his brother was. With a soft smile, he looked down at the infant. "Yes, Marcassin. I'm your brother," he said with a chuckle. "Gascon," he reinforced happily. He closed an eye reflexively as a small hand lightly smacked his brow.

"Gas-ca," he tried to repeat, pulling on the older boy's cheeks.

Close enough, Gascon thought, slightly uncomfortable with the attention his face seemed to be getting. "You really like my face for some reason…," he observed simply as he removed the toddler's hands. All he received were more smiles and giggles from the black-haired infant prince. Again, Marcassin called out, "bra-bra," giggling more when his older sibling reached up and turned the mobile of dancing pigs to help keep him entertained.

He understood now… He had to look out for him- that was his purpose. Even if his little brother were to surpass him, he was still needed as his older brother. Until Marcassin could fend for himself, he would continue to watch over him. He returned to the nursery every day since then with that in mind, only carrying a book to read to his brother, the little prince enjoying the sound of his brother's voice and probably even learning a few words. If he were sleeping, he'd read that book anyway.

He swore to himself to watch out for him.

* * *

What was wrong with him…? Was he broken? At the age of fourteen, he should have been able to master the most basic of spells. Yet, his brother at the age of _four_ happily entertained himself by casting fireball on any and all candle he found before blowing it out with an innocent giggle.

He knew what this meant as he marched to the emperor's chambers for his daily lessons. They had all the power and fortune any peasant could ever dream of, enough to hire the best tutors in the world. Did they use it? No… The Emperor insisted on teaching his sons himself when he wasn't needed by the empire or the rest of the world. In times like those, _that's_ when the secondary tutors would come into play. They followed the same strict regimen the emperor did- boring lecture after boring lecture. They let him and Marcassin go early for "self-study" in place of practice since the Emperor had a particular way of training them.

Another day of failed magic training and lectures meant to groom him into the future emperor his father thought he would be- all with an unnecessary dose of martial arts training, the boy thought.

He stopped, halfway from his room to the center hallway. What was the point? He knew deep down he'd never be able to compare to his younger brother. He slowly continued to walk, knowing full well he'd be late for his instruction.

"You're late," his father greeted, arms crossed as he watched his oldest walk through the pink double doors.

Little Marcassin sat on the couch, peacefully observing them. "Brother," he cheered, smiling at the sullen older boy.

He flashed a small smile at the tot on the sofa. When he looked back at his father, he couldn't help but think of how little value he must be now to him. "So? What would I get out of it," he snapped at his elder. "What good am I? What good are these- these lessons if I'm not needed," he complained, shaking his head. No… that wasn't true. He _was_ needed. Marcassin needed him. When their father wasn't available, Gascon was there for him. Even so, he didn't need lessons for that.

The emperor was silent for a moment. He needed these lessons regardless of his power. "Because you are a prince. They are necessary for your survival."

He rolled his brown eyes. "Hah! That's a laugh!" He placed his hands on his hips and glared at his father. "You have the only prince you'll ever need sitting on that couch behind you!" He wagged a finger at the four-year-old.

"Don't talk about your brother that way," the emperor roared, stomping forward.

Gascon crossed his arms and tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling. "If anyone talked about me that way, you wouldn't care. You only care because he's the only one who's worth anything to you." He looked back at his father and only his father. His resolve would plummet if he looked at Marcassin, now. He always looked so hurt when his older brother diminished his own self-worth.

"Be still," the emperor boomed, marching up to the defiant prince.

"Why should I be still? Do I offend you? All I've ever been is a disappointment! I've never been good at magic. I'm not even that great at fighting in general! Whatever inventions I come up with don't even impress you because it's always Marcassin!" He threw up his hands and began to pace in front of the glowering emperor, refusing to make eye contact with him or anyone else. "He's the perfect fit! I'm nothing but a waste of time, an outdated machine, the way you treat him!"

"How dare you…," the man growled, his fists tight and barely containing his rage. "How dare you assume such things!" He turned away before he could say or do anything more. All the oldest heard was the raw seething, hissing, and growling anger of the ruler of Hamelin. He turned around and intensely, coldly stared at Gascon. "Get out," he ordered, pointing at the door. "Until your behavior changes, you will not be welcome here!"

"Finally decided to throw me out, have you?! Fine! I _will_ leave," he shouted back. "Have fun grooming your replacement!" With that, he stormed out through the same pink doors he had just entered.

"Brother," Marcassin called worriedly after him, pushing himself off of the couch. He was stopped by a strong hand clapping over his shoulder. He looked hesitantly up at his father.

"Leave him. You have your own lessons to attend to," his father bitterly indicated, picking up a book. He began to read from it aloud and reinforce its lessons with pointed questions. When he noticed his youngest son wasn't listening and still hadn't sat back down, he closed the book. He looked down at the four-year-old. "Marcassin? Will you have a seat? You must stay focused." The toddler shifted his gaze a little but didn't look up. "Marcassin, now is not the time to-"

"Am I- am I a bad person," Marcassin quietly asked his father. "Brother's so mad because of me." Tears started to form in his eyes. "I don't want him to be mad," he cried, stomping his small feet. "I want Gascon to be happy!"

Right, he was still worked up about that. With a gruff sigh, he approached his son and knelt down to his level. "We can't help how your brother feels," his father stated as he rubbed the young prince's back. "He's bitter because I haven't had the time to pay as much attention to him as I have with you." He closed his eyes before he focused again on his pupil. "It's not your fault, Marcassin. I am partly to blame."

Marcassin shook his head, biting his fingernails out of stress. "Father… I don't want Gascon to leave…"

"He isn't going to leave," he tried to comfort his son.

"Yes, he is! He's going to leave and it's because of me," the four-year-old argued, pushing past his teacher and running to the door. He turned around and angrily glared at his father. "He'll leave because of me and because you yelled at him!" He ran out of the room as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

The emperor sat alone in the throne room with his arms limp at his sides. He managed to push both of them away. Marcassin was only four- he didn't understand. It was way more complicated than that- it wasn't black and white. He cared for them both immensely. He found it difficult to connect with his eldest. He was at that age- the age of rebellion, of taking things too seriously. He wondered how he could get through to him. He wondered what he was doing wrong.

As Marcassin ran in search of his brother, he sniffled. He had to stop him. He had to keep him from leaving him behind. Who would play with him? Who would tell him stories or comfort him? He couldn't let his only friend disappear.

He ran to his brother's room and had no such luck. He ran to the kitchen- Gascon often pilfered a snack when the chefs weren't looking- and didn't find the older prince. He searched everywhere, even his own room in the palace. Finally, exhausted, he sat on his small bed. He stared down at the floor. He couldn't find him. He was… gone.

He began to cry again, laying on his side, not bothering to pull the sheets over his head. He curled up into a tiny ball. Where did Gascon run off to? Had he really run away? …Did he do something to make him mad at him?

He had to apologize to him. He got up, stumbling out of the bed and walked out of his room to try to find his brother again. There was one place he didn't check: the training grounds of the palace. He didn't know why he would be there, but it was his last remaining option.

He took the long walk down to the training hall. It was one of the few places other than some of the city streets that was constructed out of stone bricks. Nothing beat straw dummies for practice, it seemed, since those were often used here, too. When he walked through the entrance, he saw the back of a familiar short gilded bright red coat. He smiled widely, excitedly and ran up behind him. He hugged his waist, pushing the teen a little.

"Ack," Gascon yelped, the weapon in his hands misfiring and the pellet hitting the stone wall near the dummy. He looked down at the boy holding him. "M-Marcassin," he stammered, feeling his little brother nuzzle the back of his leg.

Marcassin looked up with concern. "Don't leave me alone," he shouted. "I'm sorry! Please don't leave, Gascon!"

"Wha-what…?" He could only stare in disbelief down at the toddler of a prince. "I'm not going anywhere! What are you on about?"

"You said you were going to leave," the tiny mage explained, hugging his brother tighter. "Don't go," he demanded, burying his head in the back of Gascon's leg again.

"I just said- Marcassin," he started to complain. "Would you get off of me?!" He tried to pry his tiny arms off of him but to no avail. He was bound and determined to keep him there.

The younger prince shook his head and looked back up at his older brother. "Nuh-uh! If you try to leave then- then I'll just go with you!"

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at his brother's statement. "Are you crazy?! Why would you do that?! You have duties to fulfill, remember," he quickly reminded him. Marcassin didn't let go or did he answer. This was suddenly not up for debate. The older prince rolled his eyes. "Alright… Fine. I give up," he compromised, though he found it pointless- he already said he wasn't going anywhere.

Marcassin's grip slightly loosened as he looked up hopefully.

"I'll stay- on one condition." He raised a finger as he looked down at his brother. "I'm going to help you practice magic." He smirked when he heard the toddler gasp in gleeful excitement. "When you're strong enough to hold your own, then I'll leave."

"You- you mean it, brother," he asked eagerly. He smiled happily up at him.

"Yeah. I mean it. I may not be able to actually cast spells, but I know my truffles on the matter." He gave a confident wink.

Marcassin hugged him tighter again, this time out of comfort and relief. "Gascon," he cried happily. "Thank you!" He let go of him, his worry put to rest for the time being. Gascon turned to him and messed with his hair with a thoughtful hum.

He promised to look out for him. Always.

* * *

As Oliver and the others went down to retrieve the legendary wand, the two brothers sat on top of the stone slab covering the grave. Gascon seemed lost in thought, more than usual lately. Marcassin had a haunting feeling of what it was.

He had shown his true magic capabilities. He had proven his ability to hold his own. He looked up hesitantly at his older brother, now nineteen. "Is it time, Gascon?"

Gascon raised his head sharply, looking off into the distance. He smiled sadly at his little brother. He took a long look into the young mage's blue eyes before nodding. "You'll be fine, Marcassin. You should be."

Marcassin looked down for a moment at the ground. He still didn't want him to leave. He knew he couldn't stay, either. There was nothing to keep him here any longer. "What will you do? Where will you go?"

"I haven't the slightest clue," Gascon answered with a smirk. "Maybe I'll become a pirate! Or I'll make a kingdom of my own! Or- or maybe I'll be like that weirdo with the messy hair and the green coat who thinks he knows better than a prince!" He scoffed at his last thought. What did that man know about his life…? He kind of found it inspiring- even if it were a little insulting- that he held no reservation for his status as a prince. To defy someone like that… he wondered if he would ever be able to do the same.

"I'll… I'll miss you, Gascon," the tiny wizard whispered, hugging his brother from the side. "Please come back!"

He couldn't help but smile and pet the top of Marcassin's head. "I will. One day."

* * *

They would soon depart to the tombstone trail to find Mornstar. They found some time to relax beforehand, some time to process that they had indeed been flung into the past, and some time to contemplate their actions. If they altered _one_ thing, there was a chance the entire world as they knew it in their time would change.

Even as the thief knew this, he wished he could change it all. He wished for a better outcome, a better future, even. Logic reasoned that it was wiser to beat Shadar in their own time- that if the events didn't play out, the four of them would never have met, to begin with. There were consequences to his actions as with everything else.

He was forced to let it all happen: to watch his past self make one bad decision after another, permitting every self-destructive behavior that eventually resulted in the man he was now. It hurt to stand in his father's presence in such a state. If he knew… then it would only prove how right he was- that Gascon really was worthless, talentless, and unfit to hold any power. Who was he kidding? The Emperor already knew that. He'd just be putting himself through even more turmoil by revealing his identity. Best to let the fool remember his son as the well taken care of brat- not that he cared about his fate.

He heaved a sigh as he stared out the window in one of the halls of the palace, observing the bronze streets of Hamelin. It was his element, his city. Even without his birthright, he could at least safely call it that based on his knowledge. He knew every street, every building in that time period. He could always find his way out, no matter where he ended up there. Regardless of his regret, his guilt, he found comfort in the familiarity of his hometown.

"Enjoying the view," a commanding regal voice asked from beside him. Swaine flinched, and looked to the side, seeing the lion of a man standing next to him with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. He also looked out the window at the city, keeping a watchful eye of his domain.

He leaned back to look out the window. He didn't speak and kept a straight analytical air around him despite the sudden nervousness he felt. He thought back to the last time he witnessed his younger self talk to his father. It would have been their last exchange- his last words to a dead man. If only he had known.

He crossed his arms, thinking on it more. The Emperor had seemed so shocked that his older son wasn't in the picture. Did he really expect anything from him? "Just what do you want from Gascon, anyway…? He won't be the emperor you want him to be. That ship sailed a _long_ time ago."

The proud man next to him shifted his gaze to analyze the future form of Gascon. There was no mistaking it, those features, those eyes. As an adult, he had the same stocky build of his father, just thinner with less muscle. It became quite apparent he needed a shave- facial hair was apparently a trait never passed down to him. The same could be said for the shape of his chin.

How ragged and worn he looked, how desolate a state he had fallen into… it wounded him. Had he really pushed him that far- to run away, to become the wretched figure peering out the window next to him? He felt guilty for not being able to reach him. What had he said or done to make him resent him so? "I want him to be his own person. I want my son to be strong."

The thief turned, letting his arms fall. He raised an eyebrow and frowned disappointedly. "Oh, do you, now? Without magic, he's worthless to the throne…" He put a hand on his hip and looked down. "That's all you've ever wanted him to be, right? You've always been disappointed in him- That's why you favor Marcassin, so."

"And what do you know of what I want for my children," the lion of a man boomed, turning to face Swaine with a menacing glare. "I care for them both equally! They are _both_ gifted but if Gascon should continue to live in Marcassin's shadow, he will never realize his own potential."

Swaine stomped and shook his head in a fit. "Then why don't you tell Gascon that," he shouted, throwing a hand out to the hall. "You seem to have this issue with communicating with him…"

He knew it was a fruitless attempt, but he dared to try. "You need to tell him- as his _father_ , not the Emperor of Hamelin! He needs to know he's needed, that you actually give a damn about his well-being!" He breathed heavily. It always, no matter the form he took, ended up with someone shouting at one or the other. When he looked up at the cold callous unmoved face of his father, he knew it was one of those kinds of arguments. He wouldn't get anywhere. He threw his hands up and sighed, turning back to the window. There wasn't a point.

The still silence between them, overpowering the distant hissing of steam and the constant shifting of gears in the machine empire, invaded the conversation... As the emperor stood in thought, contemplating the thief's words, his son stewed in his sense of defeat and anguish.

"I… thought he knew. I've given him everything he could ever ask for. Every opportunity to simply be himself, I've allowed it," the emperor softly admitted, glancing over at Swaine. "You must know, I just want what's best for him- but he's old enough to find his own way and he won't find it following his little brother around."

The thief shook his head again. He couldn't argue there… He wouldn't have discovered half of what he knew had he not ran away. He recalled what he said to himself on the Tombstone Trail, that his father wouldn't care if he disappeared. How wrong he knew he was now that he was older. He only hoped he didn't have to suffer long after he found out. Then again, he wouldn't wish the last thought in his mind to be failing his son either.

Even if it meant changing the future, he didn't want that to happen, "He needs your support, for you to notice him as much as Marcassin. I know you want him to be independent- that's fair. He won't be a kid forever…" The rugged man tilted his head at the king, letting a sad smirk creep up on his face. He shook his head and turned away, beginning to walk down the hall. "You might want to consider giving him that support soon," he advised bitterly. A hand clapped his shoulder, stopping him. He looked back to see his father's stern expression.

He knew no matter what this man said, there was no changing the eventuality of the future. He didn't know his eldest son's story. The horrors that came to mind scared him. It made the great ruler of Hamelin of the past worry for Gascon even more so. If this was what was to become of him perhaps there was one way he could change the future for the better. This was the last and final way he could help his son. "If you should see Gascon in your time, wherever he may be, I must ask you to relay a message to him."

Swaine turned around and crossed his arms. He threw a sour look as the emperor removed his hand from his shoulder. "I might be able to give it to him. Depends- What is it," he slyly agreed, looking away from his father.

The Emperor sighed and looked down. He raised his hands to study them. "Tell him I wanted him to realize his place in the Empire _is_ here- his home," he began to admit. "I wanted him to look out for his family, to be by his brother's side, not subversive under his reign." He breathed heavily through his nose, closing his eyes.

The thief's head swiveled back to attention, shocked at what he heard. The emperor was opening up to him for once. He didn't dare interrupt- he knew this was something he needed to hear from him whether the ruler realized it or not.

"I wanted him to see that his place is protecting his people, even at the risk of losing the capitol itself- and I want him to do it in the only way Gascon can," the emperor preached, his hands balled up in tight fists in front of him. He looked up toward Swaine. "And most importantly, I want him to be proud of his own abilities, not just his brother's. I want him to take pride in himself!" He smirked at the man in front of him. Even if he were older now, he could still tell when his lectures had made an impact on his eldest- it was the thoughtful, downcast eyes and the silence that followed when he had no response.

"You could tell him now," The thief slowly observed in a hushed whisper, fighting back the urge to reveal his identity.

The emperor scoffed. "I'm no fool. You and Gascon are a lot alike. Perhaps he'd listen to you better than I." He shrugged and turned away. "He might have matured a bit, even," he masked a compliment as he began to depart.

Swaine lifted his head. "I'll… I'll be sure he gets that," he promised him. Perhaps there wasn't a way to change their past relationship after all. Perhaps his father hoped he'd realize what he wanted eventually. He looked at his right hand and began to wonder, even if he were proud of his own abilities as the emperor wanted, was the emperor proud of him? What he had become now? Did he know that he had just entrusted the country to a thief, a lowlife?

No. He had to count himself more than that. They were going to stop the Dark Djinn. He was going to save Hamelin right alongside the rest of the world with Oliver and the others. He would prove himself more capable than he ever thought he would be.

~.~.~

 **A/N:**

 **Oooh boy! I thought I was insane for writing five-thousand words. Yikes! Guess it goes to show when you give someone an interesting character you get a drive to explore them more- no matter the stakes!**

 **In any case. I really wanted to explore the relationship between the Emperor and Gascon some more. We get to see so little interaction besides them arguing with each other. I kind of had to extrapolate from what comments were made during the Hamelin arc about him as well as some analysis given to me by moonbird. (She really seems to give me a lot of inspiration for this stuff. Honestly, I'd give her half credit for this entire series if I could.) Having little to go on kind of makes him a tough subject to write about. **

**At any rate, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have any thoughts, feel free to share!**


	20. Survival

"Get off," a boat captain shouted as he pushed a young man off. "We're done with you, boy," he snarled, glaring at the deckhand in an orange shirt standing at the docks of Castaway Cove. For a moment, he stared back with wide disbelieving eyes. They were throwing him off. Then it clicked- he hadn't done his share. He hadn't pulled his weight, despite the long hours of work. He glared back at the captain who now extended his green coat towards him. He snatched it irritably.

He would have to find a way to survive, now. He earned _some_ funds, just barely enough for a few nights' stays at a local inn. He looked around at the small seaside community and back down at his attire- specifically his pellet gun. Something told him they wouldn't react well to the site of a firearm. He quickly threw on his coat, hiding the weapon from sight.

He looked around once more. His eyes darted from person to person. Having shelter was all well and good, but he didn't have enough to purchase food. He took a few deep breaths as he began to walk along the docks. His attire had been modified since he left home. He traded in his fancy clothes for meager sailing ones with a few adjustments. It wouldn't matter anyway.

He had begun to neglect his health quite a bit, too. His hair had always tried its best to rebel against the oils they used to tame it. It now seized its opportunity, curling at the ends first then seemingly knotting and tangling itself more and more as the days went. He even began to feel small hairs form on his chin- which, of course, he often pondered removing.

As he strode closer to the inn, he stopped for a moment. Was shelter _really_ more important than food? Would it matter where he starved to death? He shook his head and turned around to find a vendor…

* * *

He was starving. He spent all of his money. It had been weeks since he was kicked off the boat. He cursed the ship captain for all that he was worth. He had been looking for more work, but no such luck. He tried begging. That put quite a hole in his ego, but he didn't care. Food was food and he needed it. He felt weak and his body shivered as his legs wobbled like a newborn animal's, but he kept moving, eventually making it to Al Mamoon, the desert capital of the Southern Summerlands.

"Get a job, you lowlife," one of the passerby called out to him as he sat in the shade with his hands held out, cupped. He looked down, frowning at his attire. His jacket and the shirt and pants underneath were filthy and riddled with holes. They hung off of him like a giant sheet. This was it. This was all he had- these rags and his precious pellet gun. No one would hire him- he looked like he had no money, intelligence, or integrity to speak of.

How had it come to this? How had he fallen to this point? He was a prince, royalty! Didn't these people know-? He shook his head again. Of course, they wouldn't. They shouldn't- that was the point. This entire journey was supposed to be, so he could figure himself out _without_ that pesky title hanging over his head! It was why he bothered to call himself by a different name, after all. This starvation, this misery, was the price he paid for not thinking his next moves through. What a disaster.

He looked at the back of the man who had just berated him. He wore decent clothes. Perhaps he had money…? He needed that. He needed funds. He needed to eat! He got up from his spot and watched him closely. If he was going to be treated as a lowlife, he might as well act like one. If it meant survival, there was no limit to his actions. Perhaps living in a giant city had its pros. He could tail him and, if he was successful, take whatever he could find. He followed him closely. He held his breath as he brushed past him, his hand reaching for a pocket. Coins- a coin purse. As he grabbed it, he quickly slipped his hand back into his own.

"Hey," the man shouted. He froze and for a moment wondered if he had been caught.

He turned around to see he wasn't checking his clothes and feigned an apologetic smirk. "Sorry, I guess I misjudged the distance," he fibbed. He turned and walked away. He raised the hand that had just lifted a couple guilders off of the unwitting prey and waved behind him. "Goodbye."

He got really good at that. William had taught him well about the underground, so he applied what tricks he knew to his craft. When he was caught, he'd somehow coolly evade. Other times, he'd gleefully accept being sent to prison. Free meals often accompanied it, even if they weren't the best quality. That, and at least he had a roof to sleep under.

Other times, he slept in the streets against the walls of alleyways. He hardly got any rest, however. Discomfort and rattled nerves of the possibility of being caught or killed in his sleep kept him awake. He dared not see what became of him, either. He didn't always eat well, but his body had grown accustomed to a low intake of food. He figured he _had_ to look like hell- no point confirming it.

What he did know is that all of his years of stray hobbies regarding his hands had paid off. He was quick and slight with them. Sneaking into the workshops for odd bits of tinkering? Those aided his smooth, slick movements that so handily maneuvered him away from danger. He even made more and more use of his pickpocketing gun. If people couldn't identify you, they couldn't catch you.

He even found himself 'friends' in the dark underbelly of the city. He began to wonder if this was the life for him. Sometimes, stealing was just fun. Other times, it was for survival's sake. What was the point of going home where he would just let people down- his father, his brother?

Then again… his father was dead, and his brother was doing just fine without him. As he drank down a glass of ale and looked at his fellow thieving swine cheering for some heist they managed to pull off, he began to think he belonged there. It wasn't a life of luxury like he had grown up in, but he couldn't possibly let anyone down in a dump like this.

He was a thief, a low life, a criminal… a failure. This was it. He belonged with the rest of them.

He holed himself up in a room just above the seedy bar he stayed at. As he fell asleep the recurring thought of one day returning home came to him. What would his dear brother say? He had made a promise to come back at the very first sign of trouble…

He couldn't go back, not in his condition… He rolled over. It was probably best to let him think he was dead. He'd only disappoint him.

As he slept, a shadow loomed over his lanky form. It slowly approached his bed and then darted through him, the shadows snatching at his body. A cold chill washed over him and, in an instant, the very instant he shot up from the bed in terror, it was gone. His body was heavy, but his chest felt lighter. He gripped where his heart was, the horror stories he had heard on the streets of people losing themselves flooding his memory. It still beat soundly. He shook his head and laid back down. Perhaps he was just dreaming. He tried to ignore the instincts that told him otherwise.

Then, he felt it. He rested his hand over his heart again just to be sure. It sounded… hollower. Something was missing. Something- something had been taken from him. He sat up again and patted himself down, abandoning all hope of sleep. Something had been stolen and he'd find it. He had to. He had this uncontrollable urge to.

With a pale, drained face, he got up and left his room, left the bar behind him. To the streets again he roamed…

* * *

He found himself crawling on his hands and knees in an alleyway. His consciousness was back. He looked down in his hand and moaned in slight discomfort and disappointment. This wasn't what he needed either! Damn it! What was he looking for?! Why had he gone out of his way to steal yet another useless thing?

He kept going in and out. It always started when he saw something of value. Before he knew it, he would be in a jail cell or in an alleyway, tired in breathless. The worst cases were when he found himself beat up on the ground, bleeding. At some point, he thought he would die. The men from the bar, the people he thought he could count on that he believed he belonged with had turned on him. He had become a liability.

He found himself back where he started, alone and desperate. He was stealing whatever he wanted, whatever he needed. It didn't matter which. As soon as the words, "I need…," or, "I want…," crossed his mind, his body was already going into action. He could barely process any long-range plans without nearly throwing himself into something crazy on a whim.

It was getting worse. It was getting so much worse. Hamelin, his home, his kingdom had started to fall to ruin according to people in Castaway Cove. Something was dreadfully wrong. Something had happened to his brother. He had to return home. He had to go home. He had to help.

It was what now drove him to keep his head level. There were times his fingers strayed from his goal and he cursed himself for it. It was too much, and he began to consider the reality that he wouldn't make it. He wondered if he should even try.

Even he knew in his heartbroken riddled sense of reality that he wouldn't be much use. What had happened to him to make him so? Why was he cursed like this? Was it the Dark Djinn's doing?

A part of him yearned for peace, for the suffering to end. He found himself lying awake in the dirtiest alleys, starving after waking up from terrible dreams. He found himself resenting his own stupid decisions. He hated his lack of usefulness, how no one would ever need such a horrid wretch. He wanted it to end.

He was so tired for so long. He stole unfinished food from people, he ate what he could find and damned the risks. He didn't care if he got sick. He didn't care if he died. He had been missing for so long that even his own brother didn't know if he was alive or dead. Why would he care? He had everything he didn't. He was a sage! He was a ruler! He had no time to worry for someone as decrepit as him. So why should he care if a sandwich had a possibly disease-ridden bite out of it? He wasn't going to go back.

Something in him stirred again to go back. It started by seeing two kids and what looked like a fairy heading out of Al Mamoon one day. He swore he had seen them somewhere before. Yes, he had! They were there when he made that promise to his brother! The gears in his head whirred to life, especially at the sight of the cauldron. Cauldrons had genies and if that redhead was who he thought he was- he himself needed to get his attention. He could use a cauldron.

And like that, his body moved into motion, shutting down all other rationales except the act of nabbing a giant pot! From that point on, in the very back of his mind, he knew he had to be selective with his thoughts. He had to push to get them to get _him_ back to Hamelin. All it took was careful planning and perhaps bribing a guard for information… Damn it!

He had slipped again. His intent was to _bargain_ with them to get them to let him go with him, but now he seemed to be arguing with the ship captain himself. He wasn't budging either. Why the hell did he jump the gun? He thought of the picture of his brother he had stolen from the boy wizard when he asked about his reasoning. When he prodded further, he knew he risked exposing his identity, not that anyone would believe him in his sorry state. He gave what he could, urgently, desperately begging the captain to take him to Hamelin. He wasn't listening. He felt his consciousness begin to fade, as usual, the darkness started to cloud his memory. It had become frighteningly routine. He wondered where he was going to end up this time.

But something was different… His heart ached. Everything was getting dark, but he was still very much awake. The pain was increasing. He couldn't control himself. He couldn't control his body! He wanted to scream, to try to alert them- even if it seemed like they were miles away, now- but he couldn't bring himself to. It was like he had been hijacked. He felt like he couldn't breathe. His head was pounding. His vision blurred as he gripped his head. Darkness, nothing but thick, viscous darkness. He was drowning.

He… he felt like he was dying. This was the end… He prayed it was the end. Despite his regret of breaking his promise to his brother, he felt it was a fitting death for someone that had fallen so far.

Then… Those kids! They were back? Why? What did they want from him? Why did they pursue him? …Why was he fighting them? They had just saved his life! Was it because he couldn't get on the boat? Was it because they stood a chance of preventing him from going home to fix things? Why _did_ they try to save him?! He would have broken his promise but… he wouldn't be obliged to keep it either. It was so tempting just to give in…

They had left again. He sighed and looked down at the docks. Something was so familiar about those three. He felt so tired. He considered leaving… but then…

He didn't even remember what he said to the boy. He cast some sort of spell- was that Give Heart he drew? Then, the pain stopped. All of it… just stopped. He could finally think. The dark shadows he often saw in the corners of his vision vanished. It felt like something switched back on- something long broken and irreparable. And what he thought was uncontrollable want- his goal to return home- was still there. It was the one constant thing in his mind that was _real_ to him. It kept him sane, so he clung to it desperately.

When they asked about the picture, rather urgently so, he saw an opportunity. He could bargain. Dusty skills in his mind were put back into play. They were just kids, so this would be simple as could be for a con like him. Every fact- yes even the mention of his Great Sage of a brother- could be used to get him home. In fact, he made that his selling point, which they bought of course. He hardly believed them that they were going to face the Dark Djinn, but whatever. Home was home, and he was heading to it.

He might as well make himself useful if he was going to join them. With his mind back to full functionality, he offered what he could in return for allowing him on the journey. They had pulled him out of the darkness he had spent years suffering and slogging through, grasping at whatever strand of hope he could find. Now they were helping him get back to where he was long overdue. Where he was needed.

He owed them more than he could give.

* * *

What had he signed up for? No really! What the hell did he sign up for?! Sometimes he wondered if it was even worth it…

Of all the things he had gone through, going into the maw of a giant fairy godmother just to bring more fairies into the world was definitely the strangest! Never again would he do so, either.

The horrible thoughts that came to mind at first mention were all but clean. Fortunately, it wasn't like that and fortunately, he wouldn't have to go through with it again any time soon.

It was just one more step- one event closer to home, to the empire that so desperately needed his help. If it weren't for those three- the fairy included- he would have stayed out of it. He would have gone back to the Fairygrounds to get a drink or buy some supplies. He could have just waited at the ship.

Two of them were _kids_ , teenagers a few years younger than he was when he left home. He couldn't let them do it alone. They had the fairy, yeah, but he was about as useful as a pile of leaves when it came down to it. They needed him.

He had to admit, it felt good, too- being needed by someone. Whenever they bested an enemy that would probably have been troublesome for just the two of them, he felt a sense of pride- something he hadn't felt in quite a while.

There was something that troubled him, something he had noticed. It was one thing for Esther to get irritable- that was common- but Oliver? He never seemed to get angry about anything really. At most, he'd tell them to lay off, but that was it. It was like he didn't seem to care about his constant theft.

…Maybe it was because Esther made a point constantly about it. Was it that? Even as they set up camp just outside of the Fairygrounds- _no one_ could sleep comfortably in a fairy-sized bed, not even him- it nagged at him. The only time the kid seemed at all angry with him was directly after his heart was restored to normal. After that, he seemed pretty accepting of his status as a professional thief.

"Alright, I've had it," he finally snapped after throwing a log on the fire. Everyone looked at him with puzzled faces from their tasks. The songstress was setting up a way to heat up their meals over the fire and Oliver was making sleeping arrangements. Drippy seemed to be returning with a few logs of wood.

"Is something wrong," the young mage asked from his side of the glowing pile of wood.

He stood and crossed his arms as he studied the boy. "Come on, cave, Oliver. There's got to be something I've done that's gotten under your skin!"

"What do you mean," the girl returned, rising from her kneeling position. "I mean, you _are_ kind of useless, but aside from your usual shady behavior, you haven't been _that_ obnoxious."

With a warning look, Oliver turned to face Esther. "Don't say things like that, Esther. He's been _very_ helpful. He taught us those tactics on the beach, remember?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "After suggesting we take a nap!" She went back to setting up the cooking device, ignoring the pointed glare from the thief.

The wizard shook his head and looked back at the man. "Don't worry about Esther. You're fine. You've helped us a lot." He started to finish laying out Esther's own sleeping arrangements but noticed the thief was still eyeing him suspiciously. "Swaine," he asked out of concern, sitting up again.

"Look, I'm sure you're a pretty good kid, but…" he sighed and sat back down. "You _have_ to be bothered by me somehow." He patted his chest. "I'm a thief. I've been spending most of my life learning how to trick people out of food, money- things they've _needed_." He sighed gruffly. "I understand if you don't trust me. You don't have to act like you do."

"I'm not acting!" He leaned forward. "You've done nothing but help us. You're not trying to trick us or anything." He glanced down at his legs, an unsure frown on his young face. "I mean, why would you? You want to go to Hamelin, too."

"Er… yeah. I do." He threw another log on the fire. "I'm so used to being alone… I'm used to having no one to trust." He pulled his right leg close to his chest and rested an arm on it. "It's just- It's been a while since I've been a part of a group." He bit his bottom lip. "I've been burned before." He crossed his arms and gripped his forearms tightly. "When I lost control, the people I thought I could count on… well, let's just say they weren't who I thought they were." He chuckled wryly and shrugged. "What did I expect? We were all common criminals." He smirked as he admired the flames. "When there's dead weight, it's common for it to be dropped, exiled."

He felt his heart ache and he frowned. It was common, too, for his own family. He wasn't needed- he had very little magic. What use was he if he was just another inventor? When it finally came down to it, it seemed he'd just end up at the same spot he started: alone. When he looked at these three, he counted down the days until he had used up his worth. It wouldn't be long now. Hamelin was just around the corner. Once he did what he needed there, he wondered if they'd still need him. Shadar was still out there, but… did they really need a thief like him- a man with no magic? He had only been so useful thus far because he owed them for helping him- because otherwise, there wasn't anything else he had to offer.

Perhaps it would be best to lie low there and- He jumped when he felt the warmth of someone next to him. He looked to his left and found Oliver sitting there, looking up at him as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle. "You're not dead weight," he finally concluded. "You'll never be dead weight- neither will Esther or Drippy."

"Yeah," the girl agreed loudly. "Even if you're an accident waiting to happen," she muttered under her breath as she stirred a bowl of curry over the fire.

"I heard that," the thief snapped, swiveling his head to face her. He heard the wizard giggle from beside him and returned his attention to him. "What makes you think _I_ won't be? You two have plenty of magic." He took out his gun and held it up. "I've just got this- that's it. It's not nearly enough to defeat Shadar."

The three of them exchanged glances and began to laugh. The fairy was the first to speak. "Ya think just one of us can beat him on our own?! Ta mun!" He hopped up on a log next to the thief. "It's going to take a lot more than plain ol' magic to take Shadar down. Ollie-boy's got potential, but he's going to need a lot of help to get there- as much as he needs!"

"Yes! You're part of the team," the blond reminded him. She motioned to his weapon of trade. "That thing can help when we have to fight! It _is_ a weapon, magic or no." She rolled her eyes then focused on the lanky thief. "Even- and I can't believe I'm saying this- _stealing_ from enemies will help." She placed a bowl of curry to heat over the fire.

"And you were amazing when we fought that giant jellyfish! I bet you have all sorts of other neat tricks you can do with your pistol, too," the boy praised. His smile widened when he saw the thief look away, attempting to conceal a cocky smirk. "See," Oliver cheered. "As long as you're with us, there's plenty you can do!" He reached around the man and embraced him from the side.

He looked down at the boy in wonder. They had accepted him without question, especially this kid. He smiled, letting the warmth and gratitude in his heart breakthrough. "Thank you. All of you," he mumbled.

"Curry's ready," Esther announced, walking up to the two.

Oliver released the thief and leaped to his feet. "Neato! Thanks for cooking, Esther!" With a grin, he sat back down next to their newest member. He dove right in, grabbing the spoon and eagerly taking the first bite. "Hot," he whined, wincing. He took the spoonful out of his mouth and blew on it.

The songstress giggled. "What did you expect? I just finished heating it up!" She continued to offer the thief his share, waiting patiently for him to take the bowl. "Are you going to eat, Swaine," she suggested with a slightly sly look.

He considered it for a moment and cracked a smirk as he loosened up. He reached for the bowl and thanked her for it. As he began to eat with them, as they all sat silently around the campfire, he realized that he hadn't had this kind of experience in a long time- not even with the group of thieves back in Al Mamoon. This connectedness, this sense of community, and the sense that he truly belonged here with these three- even the loudmouth fairy- he hoped would last for a while. He knew they'd go their separate ways one distant day, but for now… this. This was… nice.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I keep writing Swaine themed stories! I have no restraint! Agh! In any case. I wanted to explore a little bit of Swaine's heartbreak some more and also use some old dusty ideas I had quite a while back. Like Swaine actually being a deckhand on a boat at some point. That'd be cool. His outfit does strike me as a kind a sailor wears.**

 **Honestly, I actually think my other drabble "Pictures and Promises" is a better version of this one. I just said, "Screw it, let's do it anyway," and wrote this on a whim. It was fun and relaxing!**

 **I keep getting these ideas from things completely unrelated to Ni no Kuni. I think one of the things that spurred this was watching House MD all day. There was an episode with a homeless man who I hoped was who he said he was… but wasn't… Don't ask how I went from that to Swaine suffering and then adjusting to being in a group. My brain makes odd connections.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this odd drabble! Thoughts?**


	21. Tone Deaf Thief

He sat strumming away at his mandolin, idly churning out an aimless tune. The others sat around the campfire, each doing their own mindless task, each enjoying the melodies that emanated from the thief and his instrument.

Oliver was reading the tale about the very first Clarion- created by four brothers to return peace to the world. He recalled the completion of the flute, the banter that ensued after. They were all so excited to finally move forward in the effort to defeat Shadar. Every remark seemed so quickly passed over in his memory as they all were consumed in awe of both what they had just witnessed and their newfound capacity to save the world.

Everyone had come together to complete it. The entire world- well the rulers from all the countries as well as their own former royal of a companion had helped bring it together. They had seen the recreation of a powerful magical artifact. They had seen the bond of two brothers reform in the effort. Both of which brought incorrigible grins to everyone's faces.

Now, as the boy read the book, he thought back to what everyone had said earlier, banter and all… _"I'd love to play it, but I'm tone deaf,"_ one line of dialogue struck him. He sat up suddenly. With it, the thief's music stopped. _"…I'm tone deaf,"_ he replayed in his mind. He blinked in confusion as he looked down at the ground in thought. How? How could he play so well? He shouldn't have been able to play his beloved mandolin at all…

He turned and looked in bewilderment at the ever-observant Swaine. He looked down at the mandolin, the same mandolin that had been so beautifully played just moments before he came to the realization.

"Oliver," he asked, leaning over the instrument in his hands. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Swaine… You're tone deaf," he pointed out. He turned his body to fully face the jacket-clad man. "You- you shouldn't be able to sing…" He gestured towards the string instrument. "Or play the mandolin."

Esther looked up from tuning her own instrument. "He has a point, Swaine." She tilted her head. "It _is_ kind of weird."

"Oi! What's the trick, mun," the fairy piped up. "You're trying to pull a fast one on us, are ya?" He stamped a tiny leg towards the thief in question and raised an equally tiny fist.

The man stared wide-eyed at the three. He hadn't quite expected them to remember that little comment. He felt himself smirking then he began to laugh.

The two kids and a fairy exchanged confused glances. What was so funny…?

"You lot really think- after all this time- I wouldn't have a hope in hell at this?! You must be joking." He leaned forward with a cocky grin. "I've learned to compensate," he admitted. He let loose a few stray giggles. "You seem to forget- I've been playing this thing since Marcassin was small." He raised the mandolin by the neck. "And learned to sing along with it."

"So wait…," the girl began. "Is it the only instrument you learned how to play?"

"Yep. The only one I can sing with, too. I can't play anything else- I'd sound awful." He shook his head as he placed the mandolin down in his lap.

"So, you really can't hear the notes," Oliver exclaimed, amazed. "But…," he started again. "You must have sounded pretty bad as a kid, then."

"Well, everyone sounds bad when they start," Esther replied. "I probably sounded worse than Swaine."

The thief leaned back in shock. "Oh? Humility," he jested, smirking as he received a well-deserved glare from Esther. He shook his head. "I wasn't always tone deaf. I kind of lost it as I got older." He held out a hand. "Let's just say using a pickpocketing gun has its flaws." He shrugged. "But it hasn't stopped me from playing her." He picked back up the instrument and strummed a few chords. "And I wouldn't play anything else." He sighed and cast a warm smile down at the mandolin. "…of all the notes- these are the only ones I can still properly hear."

"Why'd you stop playing, then," a voice from behind him asked.

The thief jumped and a strangled note pierced the air. He turned to find his brother staring down at him. Swaine lowered his gaze to avoid his younger brother's. "I just… couldn't."

Marcassin sat next to him as Pea, who had gone with him to explore the surrounding forest, sat next to Oliver. "Brother. Was it because of father?"

The others remained silent as they watched the two of them intently- all except Pea who fiddled with some blades of grass.

Swaine cleared his throat. "Yeah," he choked out, gripping the mandolin tighter. "Father… He gave me this instrument before you were born. I remember sneaking off to where the royal musicians would practice and listening to their pieces." He shrugged. "It was the only other thing besides tinkering I could escape to." He looked over at the sage with a fond smile. "Well… that is until you came around."

"Hah! I remember! You used to get us in so much trouble, Gascon," the younger prince cheered. His smile fell as he looked down, realizing the reason he had quit. "It must have been hard, not being able to play."

He nodded in agreement. "After hearing about what happened, it was like I lost touch with reality. The notes just weren't right." He idly plucked at the strings. "I believed I had gone completely tone deaf." He looked over at the group. _But these three…_ "I think… I think after all we've been through, after accomplishing as much as we have…," He sighed and strummed a couple of triumphant chords. He smiled at the sound- the only musical sound that would come to him, that he had become so familiar with, he could go completely deaf and still know it's voice. "I think my hearing has recovered in full."

"We can move forward," Pea proclaimed. "Silly bean! You were so sad, you couldn't hear the music. Now you're all better!" She raised her hands above her head and spread them out. "All better!"

The thief smirked at the girl. She may have had a point.

"But you still can't play anything else," Esther reminded him. "You're still tone deaf."

He growled as he glared at her. "And you're still not getting it. I've put in so much practice in this, that it doesn't matter! I've learned to work around it- the same way I've learned to work around not having a single shred of magic!"

"Yeah, by becoming a thief," Esther shot back.

Oliver got to his feet. "You two cut it out," he demanded before the thief could retort. He turned to the familiar tamer. "I mean, Swaine wasn't entirely right becoming a thief, but I kind of understand what he means. He worked hard to be as strong as he is." He glanced back at the man. "Whatever it is, it takes effort and practice! That's something we've all had to do! Whether we have magic," he looked between the three magic users in their party. "Or we don't," he concluded, looking back at Swaine.

At that, Marcassin looked away. He seemed suddenly lost in thought. "That's… not entirely true…"

"Hmm?" Swaine looked over at his brother. "What do you mean?"

"You have a little. It's just been never enough to cast spells," the sage observed. "I'm sure you remember when we tried to fight an ogre- it wasn't long before you left and before…," he trailed off, realizing that their father's demise wasn't long after. He shook his head again. "You tried to correct my casting by grabbing the scepter." He held back a chuckle. "There was a small surge of magical energy- _your_ magic."

"Er… No. That was all you if I recall," he corrected, rubbing the back of his head. "I've never been able to muster up a spark."

"Maybe its conditional," the young wizard suggested as he held a hand to his chin in thought. "Maybe it's only at its peak when you're trying to help. Maybe it's like your ability to play music- you're only able to do it when you're at your best."

"Which I wasn't, might you remember?" He focused on Oliver intently. "I was at odds with myself at the time-"

"You _still_ _knew_ what you wanted, though," Esther reminded the man. "You said that once you make up your mind about something you see it through." She held her hands in front of her chest.

At that, the thief looked down. He glared at the ground. They were bringing up old history yet again. "Just drop it- it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Swaine," Esther prodded. "It _does_ matter."

The thief got up, using the mandolin as a bracer. "Let it go," he warned. "No sense discussing the past. I had very little magic. That's it. That's all there is to it."

Oliver groaned and shifted uncomfortably. He looked sympathetically up at the second eldest in their little group.

"No it's not," the harpist shouted, standing up abruptly. She stomped her foot. "You can't just keep running from it! You need to talk about it-!"

"I said drop it," Swaine snapped as he gripped the neck of the instrument tighter. "I don't want to talk. I don't need to."

"Esther, I really think we should leave him alone about this…," the young mage cautioned, seeing the irritable look on the cad's face.

The ruler nodded at the girl. "It might be for the best. It's a sore subject," Marcassin advised, now standing, too.

She shook her head, squinting her eyes shut. She opened them and stared at the rest of the group. "Yes. He _does_!" She looked back at the man she was arguing with. "How else are you going to heal?!" She thrust her hands toward the ground in frustration. "You're such a coward! All you ever do is run away from your problems, Swaine!" She gestured angrily at the mandolin. "That's all that is! It's just you running away from something you need to talk about!"

"Esther-," both the younger prince and the savior began to counter her, trying to rush to the thief's aid- or at least prevent him from an inevitable enraged fit.

"I said _shut up_ ," he roared, leaning towards the girl. "You haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about!"

"I do," she snapped back. "So put down the mandolin and talk! Gees, your so- so-!"

"So what," the thief interrogated her. "Cowardly? Foolish? Stubborn? …Rude?" He stepped forward, gripping the instrument so tight that his knuckles began to actually show through his skin. "Go on. Say it. Tell me what I am, hmm? Since you seem so _knowledgeable_ about me!" He pressed his free hand to his chest. "Tell me what I am, Esther! Tell me! Cause I haven't a god damned clue," he spat, breathing deeply as he seethed with rage.

The girl winced as she leaned away. He was standing less than a foot away. She stomped her foot and then glared at him despite her intimidation, staring him right in the eye. "Difficult!"

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back. "'Difficult'," he parroted. "How the hell-!"

"Every time any of us tries to connect, Swaine. Every time you have the chance to finally open up, you shut down! You make stupid little comments! You hide! You're so closed off!"

"Oh! Oh, that's rich! Outside of my history, I've been pretty honest with you lot," he scoffed, wagging a finger at her.

"But it's your _history_ , Swaine! You need to address it! It's been long enough!"

He stared intensely at her. _Long enough, huh?!_ In a brief moment of mania, he did what he never had dreamed of doing. He raised his prized instrument and threw it in the middle of their campfire. He turned to it and watched as it burned.

"No, no, no! Gascon! What are you thinking," his brother pleaded after a moment of stunned silence at the action. He dove for its head, wincing as the flames scorched his skin. He carefully set it down. He took off the cape around his neck and used it to put out the now damaged mandolin. Cringing again in pain, he cast Healing Hand on his arm to treat his burns. He would have to magically mend his clothes later.

"You're right…," the thief whispered. "It has." He looked over at his brother, at the instrument. He felt a tear escape his right eye at the sight. "The past should stay in the past, Esther." He turned to the familiar tamer. "I know it happened. I know what I've done. I've accepted it. So…," he heaved a gruff sigh. "I see no sense talking about it. My father's dead. I'm a thief. I've already avenged and protected the Empire- the world! And, hell, I'll do it again in a heartbeat."

He walked back to his spot and sat down next to Marcassin. He looked up at the others and cast a small sad smile. "There's really nothing to address." He looked over at Esther. "So, when I say drop it, I mean you should really drop it."

They were all quiet as they took in his words... His actions…

The sage sighed heavily. He stroked the burned wood and examined the frayed wires. He looked over at Swaine who seemed to be lost in melancholic thought and now bowed his head with his eyes closed. He cast Rejuvenate on the instrument.

"Wha- what are you doing," Oliver asked him, Pea hiding slightly behind him out of fear.

Marcassin raised a finger to his mouth.

"Gee, are you sure," he whispered.

"He said, 'quiet', didn't he," the fairy scolded from nearby.

Esther watched quietly and intently as the scene unfolded before her.

The ruler perched the mandolin carefully in his lap. He tried humming a tune he had heard his brother play before as a child- perhaps the first tune the thief had ever been seen practicing by his younger brother. He attempted to play it, messing up on several occasions.

Swaine opened his eyes at the sound. He slowly raised his head and looked over. He heard Marcassin curse under his breath occasionally when he misplaced a note or lost the rhythm and had to stop.

"What… what are you doing," he asked him quietly. "I threw that on the fire for a reason- to make a point."

"No," the emperor began. "You threw it on the fire because you were mad. You'd regret it later…" He exhaled in frustration when he realized he was playing out of key. "You love this mandolin- you always have. It was one of the best things father ever gave you. I couldn't stand to watch you destroy it." He smiled despite the fact that he had to stop once again to correct himself. "It holds a lot of good memories of the past. You know that better than I…" He sighed and stopped playing altogether. He handed his elder brother the instrument. "And I believe you wouldn't be the same without it."

As the thief took it, he rubbed the instrument as he admired the designs. The scratches and scuffs from years of use had been removed. The mandolin looked even better than before he had decided to destroy it. "Marcassin… I…,"

"Gascon, please." He met his brother's gaze. "Let this be a reminder to move forward. Do not let it be a reminder of your past mistakes." He chuckled at the thief. "Besides, only one of us could ever play that thing! I don't even know where to begin!"

As a small relieved smile crept up on the rogue's face, he heard Esther say, "I'm sorry…" He turned his attention to her. "I shouldn't have been so pushy…," she admitted, ringing her hands in front of her.

"I shouldn't have yelled," Swaine shot back. He smirked and straightened up a little. He looped the instrument over his person. "You know what, as an apology, what would you like to hear?"

"Huh? Y-you're letting me choose," she asked, beside herself at the sudden occasion. "Um, er… The Babana King," she blurted out.

His eyes widened, and he failed to hold back a chuckle. "The… 'The Babana King'?"

"What," she snarled.

"Isn't that a nursery rhyme," he questioned her.

"It's a good song," she whined, slumping down defeatedly as she pouted.

"Babana King! Pea knows that song," she cried. "Play it and feel better, bean man!" She began to chant, "Play it! Play it!"

The others, except the boy wizard and the thief in question, exchanged a unified nod and began to chime in on Pea's chant- even his younger brother seemed to join in, to his disbelief. What were they, six? He rolled his eyes.

"Looks like you're outvoted, Swaine," Oliver laughed.

"Yeah, it seems so…," He shook his head with a defeated smile. "Alright, alright. I'll play 'The Babana King'. Keep your hair on." And then, for the first time in a while, he played with an eagerness he hadn't felt since he was a kid.

~.~.~

 **Author's Note:**

 **I saw something… Something during a friend of mine's playthrough…**

 **Swaine's tone deaf! He states it just after the completion of the Clarion. He says that he'd play it but he's tone deaf. How did I not see this? All this time. So… tying in with the whole idea that somehow somewhere Swaine may have gotten over his past, I decided to write in a work around of how he could possibly play the mandolin!**

 **Cause damn it! I want to believe Swaine can play a mandolin! I won't let continuity stop me! I'll just take the continuity and use it to make this thief better! Cause I can do that!**

 **Anyway… thoughts? Critiques?**

 **I hope you enjoyed this… (I can't, for the life of me, stop writing about Swaine… I think I have a problem…)**


	22. Late Night Talks

**Decided to experiment with a writing style. I saw someone do something similar with a mostly dialogue driven drabble. Let's see if it works.**

 **Spoilers for later part of the game. You know the drill.**

 **Warning: There is mention of self-harm later in this one.**

 **Disclaimer: If I owned the rights, Ni no Kuni would be a darker game than it is. Be thankful I don't.**

~.~.~

A quiet night in the inn in Perdida, just before journeying into the miasma marshes. The familiar tamer slept in her own bed, the fairy somehow having rolled off onto the floor out of the two boys'. The boy wizard couldn't sleep. He was excited yet terrified. What if he couldn't defeat Shadar? What if he couldn't free Alicia's soul? What would happen?

He didn't dare open the companion to lull himself to sleep- he worried about waking everyone up with the light… So what else was there?

He was wide awake. He just stared at the ceiling, counting down each time Drippy's lantern shifted. When that didn't work, he switched to counting the seconds between the thief's snores- though that was never constant as they often varied in volume.

He was at a loss. How long would he have to wait until his mind settled down until his nerves ceased to rattle? _Dang it._ He thought, looking around the room. He turned on his side and watched the still back of a blanket covered Esther and a snoozing fairy whose small chest rose and fell.

He wasn't sure how long he stared. It was about an hour, he believed. He turned back to face the rogue, whose back also faced him. He always seemed to curl up and grab his shoulders for comfort. The kid assumed that behavior was out of habit, considering the man's years of living alone. It was hard to seriously hurt someone if they laid like that with their backs against a wall, he figured.

The man didn't really tell them much about anything. He kept himself quite reserved. He really didn't dwell on anything that had to do with his personal history- so all of their experience and knowledge of Hamelin was from either first hand, through Marcassin, or what little bits and pieces they could press together.

He supposed he could learn more… He shook his head, closing his eyes. He didn't want to bother the thief. He had a pension for getting really irritable the less sleep he had. He'd drink a decent portion of coffee- which they all needed to focus their skills- in the morning as a consequence if his night didn't fair to well.

He turned back on his back. Back to the ceiling again. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. "Urgh," he groaned softly, throwing an arm over his eyes in defeat.

A soft moan from next to him sounded. At first, he assumed it was just another snore, but then the thief shifted; he was prone to staying in the same position all night- not much of a restless sleeper. His posture had loosened from the tight ball he held himself in and he tilted his free side slightly as he turned his head a little to look at the young mage.

"Oliver…," Swaine mumbled, drowsy. "You're… still up," he yawned.

"Couldn't sleep. I'm _really_ nervous." He didn't move his arm. "Sorry for waking you."

"Mmm…"

"You should probably go back to sleep, Swaine."

"Mmmhmm…," the thief groaned back.

There was silence for a moment. The boy lifted his arm a little to peak at the man sharing the bed with him. He hadn't curled back up. He always curled up when he willingly went to sleep. He was still awake.

Another few minutes passed.

"Are you… asleep," Oliver hesitantly asked the thief.

"Barely. It's hard for me to fall back asleep once I've fully woken up."

"What fully woke you up," the boy prodded curiously.

"Wondering what could possibly keep you up and make you so nervous."

"Oh… umm…," Oliver whispered as he turned back to face the rogue's back. "Just pre-battle jitters. That's all."

"Oh? Do you need something to calm you down then? Where's your Companion?"

"Well… You see… I need light and I didn't want to wake up anyone."

"Gotcha." He heard Swaine sigh before he rolled over to face him. "Perhaps I could tell you a story or something. Would that help?" He chuckled lightly, softly. "Hell, maybe it will lull _me_ to sleep."

"What kind of story?"

"Anything. You name it."

"…"

"…Well…?"

"Can you tell me about Hamelin- what it was like growing up there?"

The thief coughed, choking on his own spit in shock.

"Are you okay, Swaine?"

"How about something different, eh? Hamelin's _boring_! You don't want to hear about that," he waved off, harshly whispering.

"No, it isn't! It's really cool! I want to know what it's like living in a machine city," he whispered back.

"Oh geez- Oliver, it's like any other city- crowded, everyone trying to get things done as quickly as possible, and impossibly huge. That's it."

He just stared back at Swaine. "That's not what I saw."

There was stammering then a silent bout of contemplation from his older friend. "Okay. It won't be much- so you may want to find another topic."

"I don't mind."

"Good…," he sighed, reaching up and rubbing his head in annoyance. "I can't speak for most people, but it was very militaristic. I remember being taught how to wield a sword and various strategies of battle. It was a very _very_ thorough and strict training regimen." He scoffed. "That's the thing about Hamelin. It's heavily focused on the distant future."

"Is that it…?"

"That's all I want to divulge, yes."

"But- but!"

"What," he snarled. "That's all there is to say, Oliver."

"Did you have any favorite holidays…?"

The thief was quiet for a moment. He had never really thought about holidays all too much before. "Er… Yeah. It's… umm…," he glanced up at the ceiling and then down to the blanket. "The royal procession."

The boy looked down then glanced at the ceiling as he began to piece information together. "Wait… Isn't that the _only_ well-known holiday Hamelin has?"

Swaine cleared his throat. "No… Not really. We have truffling contests and the Yule feast, but those pale in comparison to the royal procession which really celebrates _two_ things." He held out his free hand signifying the number. "Our annual accomplishments and the current emperor's birthday."

"So… Why do you like it so much, then?"

"It's the inventions," he nonchalantly informed. "I love seeing what Hamelin's best minds come up with. Even as a child I looked forward to it."

"But… wouldn't you have to be at the front of the float when you were a kid?"

He waved it away mockingly. "It didn't matter. Back then, I got to go see the inventions personally before we left the palace. Many people, then and now, would _kill_ to get that close to them."

"Oh, wow," the wizard gasped in amazement. "What kind of machines were there?"

There was a heavy, reluctant breath. "Erm… I can't say for certain- it varies. The royal procession happens _every_ year. It's like keeping track of birthdays- you just can't remember them all." He paused for a moment as he placed a hand on his chin. "Tanks… Tanks were often a big thing. Everyone _loves_ hog tanks."

"…"

"What," the thief asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just thought- I mean…"

"Mean what?"

"I thought _you_ invented the hog tank."

Swaine looked at Oliver in shock for a moment. "…You _did_ read the Wizard's Companion, right?"

"I thought they were talking about you and… Marcassin," he admitted, hesitant to bring up the sage.

"Oh." He lied on his back. "Yeah, no. That wasn't us." He had a small smile. "Though, I will say, that hog tank we fought _was_ a design I drew up and gave to those two inventors. So, I guess I helped design them to some capacity."

"Huh…" The kid beamed back at him. "That's still awesome, Swaine!"

"Eh…" The thief shrugged. "That sort of thing's common in Hamelin. Someone pitches a design, and, if the design is feasible enough, the inventor tries it out." He looked over at his young friend. "That's how we progress."

There was a moment of silence between the two. Another hour seemed to pass.

"I still can't sleep, Swaine."

"Ugh," the man responded. He scrunched up his face and looked over. "Yeah, me neither." He rolled over and tried to force himself to sleep by curling up again. "I'm going to try." He glanced over his side. "Think about hog tanks. Maybe at some point, you'll wear yourself out mentally."

"I'll… I'll try."

Swaine didn't respond. The boy rolled on his back and looked up at the ceiling. _Hog tanks… How are they made…?_ That suggestion just made it worse. Now he _had_ to know how hog tanks worked! "Hey, Swaine?"

"What," he snapped softly.

"How are hog tanks made?"

"It's too complicated and too late at night for me to explain _that_ , Oliver."

"But now I can't sleep because of it!"

The man sighed and relaxed his form. He rolled over to face Oliver again. "Fine. I'll tell you something else."

"Like…?"

"I don't flipping know," he almost wanted to shout. He swung his free arm in the air over the layer of the blanket covering him. "What do you want to hear?" He stopped for a moment when the mage opened his mouth. "And don't say hog tanks," he warned harshly with a pointed finger.

"…"

"…Well? Anything?"

"Umm… What was it like being a thief- you know, after you left Hamelin…?"

"I'm not telling you that, Oliver."

"You don't have to tell me the bad stuff-"

"It's nothing _but_ bad stuff. No. Something else."

"Uh… Well… I've never been heartbroken so…"

"Oh, god, Oliver," he hissed. "Is there _anything_ you want to know that won't dredge up old memories?"

"I can keep it secret."

"I don't want to dwell on the past any more than I have to." He sighed. "Even so… I really shouldn't tell you. You have enough emotional garbage as it is to go through."

Oliver hummed in thought for a moment. "…I think I can handle it."

The man groaned and slowly rolled his eyes. "Don't you already, you know, _know_ about heartbreak? You heal people all the time," he whispered back.

"Yeah, Mr. Drippy told me."

"Then why do you want _me_ to tell you? Of all the things that fairy's good for, it's explaining something until it can't possibly be explained further." He shrugged. "What's the point? What's there to learn?"

"But that's from Mr. Drippy. It was… kind of broad. I want to know what it felt like from someone who's gone through it." He paused for a moment, looking at his own hands. "Maybe it will help me help the brokenhearted better."

He sighed and shook his head. "From hog tanks to heartbreak- what a transition." He scowled at the boy. "Sorry, but I'd rather not." He rolled over, finally giving up. "Goodnight."

"Can I at least ask why…?" When he saw Swaine tense up, he flinched. "Or not…" He lied on his back as he studied the ceiling again. He figured heartbreak was painful. It was no wonder he didn't really want to say anything. "It must be really bad. Whatever it is, I'm sorry I brought it up." He had no idea what the man had gone through- all he knew was that even he didn't deserve it. "I'm sorry you had to go through it."

This kid was… persistent- but not in the trying way Esther could be. He cared- there was a genuine warmth about his curiosity. It was late. It was just Oliver. If it _did_ help him be a better wizard, then besides himself, where was the harm…?

"…Okay…," he breathed, gripping his shoulders tighter. "It's kind of fuzzy… my memory of it. That's what it can be like. There are bits and pieces. Most of them..." He felt his voice catch in his throat as he recalled his experience. "There was a bit of pain."

"Pain? Did you get headaches or something?"

"Not always. I often blacked out and woke up in completely different places. It got worse and worse…" He shook his head from what the boy could tell. "But that's not all. I _knew_ when I was conscious because of the pain." He rubbed his free shoulder before tensing up again. "Things get really blurry. You start wondering what's real and what's delusion." He laid back onto his back. "The weird thing about the human mind is that you remember fear and _pain_ more than anything else." Even as he said this, he looked away from the mage, concealing the wounded look he had.

"So if it wasn't headaches… what was it?" He watched as the thief glanced at him. "Was it your heart…?"

He shook his head. He grunted uncomfortably as he turned away again. "I… really don't think I should say, Oliver. Just thinking about it disgusts me."

"Does the past really hurt that much…?"

"Yeah… They say the past can't really hurt you. They also say it can haunt you." He looked over his shoulder. "The past doesn't haunt me. It might as well be bludgeoning me."

"Only if you let it. You can fight it…"

He raised an unseen eyebrow. "How?"

"Telling someone about it. Talking it out with someone you trust."

"Oliver," he groaned. He rolled over again to face him. "I hardly trust anyone as it is!"

"Do you trust me?"

"H-huh," the thief stammered, caught off guard by the question. He furrowed his brow and stared back at the boy. "Of course, I trust you, Oliver. What kind of question is that?!"

The wizard nodded affirmatively. "Then tell me. I'll listen."

The boy stared at the thief and the thief stared back. As Swaine considered his answer, he bit the inside of his lip. He groaned uncomfortably again as he turned his head suddenly to squint at the adobe ceiling. He looked back at Oliver again. "You've got your wand handy, have you," he requested.

"Uh… why?"

"I'll show you what I mean."

"Umm… you mean to cast Magic Lantern?"

He saw Swaine nod in the dark.

"That will wake the others."

"We'll pull the blankets over our heads. Besides…," He lifted his head to look at the girl and the fairy. "One isn't even facing us and the other… well, the fairy could sleep through an earthquake."

"Huh. Okay. Yeah, let's do that, Swaine." He nodded at the cad again as he reached down to his bag and pulled out Mornstar. The two of them sat up and proceeded to throw the blankets over them, making a makeshift tent. Oliver cast the spell, allowing them to see for a decent amount of time.

Swaine sat in front of him, his legs crossed. He seemed to be unbuttoning his short-sleeved orange shirt- his coat was hanging on the end of the bed.

"What are you doing," the wizard asked him with a look of confusion.

"Hold on." He slid off the shirt and set it to his side. That's when the kid saw it. Scars, different shapes, and different sizes populated the former prince's shoulders. Some of them were raised, the others were sunken in based on how they healed.

The deepest ones seemed to be on his sides, running along his thin, now slightly more nourished frame.

"What happened to you," the sage asked him, his voice taking on a more frightened and concerned tone. "Are these from fights? Did you get into a lot of fights, when you were heartbroken?"

He shook his head somberly. "No… At the time it seemed like a good idea- a way of keeping track of when I was… myself." He ran a few fingers across the scars on his shoulder. "I guess I never _was_ really. I'd never willingly do this before I lost restraint. I'd never do this now. It was only then." He leaned forward. "Losing a piece of heart is literally losing a piece of yourself, Oliver. You stop being _you_. You start doing things you'd never think of doing. Wanting things you'd never think of wanting… and you become…" He raised a hand, his palm facing the blanket.

He let it fall, the back of his hand tapping his knee limply. "…Useless." He shook his head a little. "Or worse, a menace." He heaved a heavy breath and looked down at the scars on his sides. "I think I knew what was going on… or at least what was left of me. I _knew_ I needed to get a grip, so I…" He gestured outward but still toward himself with his hands. "Did this as a reminder of being 'awake'. I knew I could make a sound decision when I was in pain." He traced one of the deeper scars on his abdomen.

He watched worriedly as the thief did so. "Why are those so deep…?"

"I got used to them. They stopped hurting as much." He scoffed as he looked to the side. "Luckily I stopped when I saw you three. I think something shifted- or clicked, more like- before I got any worse." He gritted his teeth as he looked down at them. "I _hate_ that I had the gall to do this to myself."

"You couldn't control yourself."

"I know… but see, this damage is the kind of damage healing hearts can't fix."

"But you said it yourself, Swaine. You wouldn't do it again, now! Healing hearts can keep this kind of damage from happening again!"

 _There's a fair point,_ Swaine thought with a raised eyebrow. "They're permanent reminders of my darkest hour, Oliver. At the time, there was little I had in the way of support." He gave a short, sad laugh. "I could have bled out, you know. I might as well have jumped off a cliff." He leaned back on his hands and scoffed. "I believe it got so bad I wondered if dying would be a better option."

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. "Did you…" He cleared his throat nervously. "Did you try to kill yourself?"

For a moment he sat straight back up with panicked wide eyes. "What?! No! Not really. I mean, I toyed with the idea. I even jumped off the very last dock in Castaway Cove to see what jumping off of something would be like- on a whim!" He leaned back again. "Then I believe I didn't like feeling suddenly soaked- spied something attractive and decided to steal it." He lifted a hand and waved in front of him. "Or something like that. I remember being drenched in water so, I must have taken a dive somewhere."

"Swaine," Oliver complained. "I'm serious. This isn't something you joke about."

"So am I. I wasn't flipping suicidal, just very _very_ lost and confused."

He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "I'm glad I didn't actually die in the long run." When he sat up again he suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around him and Oliver's hair brush his chest. He froze, not expecting the sudden embrace.

"I'm glad, too."

He lifted a hand, hesitating as he held it above the mage's ginger hair. He smiled down at the teen and patted his head. "Heh. Thanks, kiddo."

The mage let go as Mornstar started to flicker, the spell wearing off. The thief took what chance he had to put back on and button back up his shirt. They re-wrapped themselves in covers, preparing for another attempt at sleep.

It seemed to work, as Oliver yawned as he snuggled down into the blankets.

"…You won't tell the other two… right," Swaine asked worriedly.

"I won't. I won't even tell Marcassin." The thief heard another yawn. "That's something you should really tell him yourself."

"Thank you, Oliver," he breathed gratefully. "If it means anything to you, I feel a lot better getting that off of my chest."

"And Swaine," the wizard called.

"Hmm?" He glanced over his shoulder at the boy's back.

"You should know, I'm happy you're still around. You're really a good person… and a good friend."

A warm feeling washed through the thief. He smiled as he looked back at the wall. He needed to hear that… from someone. He was glad it was Oliver. He felt himself relax a little more before drifting asleep. "Sure thing, kiddo. Sure thing," he whispered to his now sleeping friend.

~.~.~

 **Author's note:**

 **Well… That was… something. Initially, I wanted to focus more on the self-harm (because there is something seriously wrong with me and I need to seek counseling), but I decided against it. I seem to be veering more towards thief boy's spell of heartbreak right now- that and that grey area in between Hamelin and Castaway Cove. We really don't know much about those years in between. On top of that, something caught my attention ( EAD13 might have had some influence on this)- he covers up a lot. He hides his past a lot. What if it's not just modesty? I mean, he's skin and bones, so it could be the fact that he's pretty malnourished for someone his age and he doesn't want to draw concern, but that wasn't enough for my decrepit little mind, was it? **

**I often equate heartbreak as a sort of representation of depression and other mental illnesses- but mostly depression. From what I know, many people experience depression differently and do things for different reasons. Some escape into other things. Some hurt themselves (for varying reasons, reasons I can't hope to fully grasp myself). Some can't get out of bed in the morning. Granted, I've never considered myself as a person that suffers from depression, but lately, I've been kind of worried that I might be. I know I'm out of my depth- as I know people who've suffered from it, who** _ **have**_ **hurt themselves during it, but I've never experienced it at its worst myself.**

 **Aaaanyway. I decided to give a nice bit of character bonding and fond backstory giving before the more serious stuff. Sorry if this caused any issues for anyone. Just… be kind to yourselves, alright?**

 **Anyway. Thoughts? Critiques? Even if not, I hope you enjoyed and took something from this. Sorry, it got a bit dark.**


	23. Re-connection

**Another small bit here. Still experimenting with this minimalist/dialogue style. It probably won't work. Oh well. I hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just really like writing for this hobo.**

~.~.~

" _Hi,_

 _It's me. I was just wondering: how are you?"_

"Urgh." A shake of the head. A tear of the page, crumpled up and useless on the grassy ground behind a decent sized boulder.

" _To Marcassin,_

 _It's been a while, huh? I mean, I know we haven't talked in a bit. You look good…"_

"That's not right either!" The same process, though the paper landed a little farther from its kin.

" _To whom it may concern,_

 _I'm sorry. I can't write worth a damn. I just wanted to say, well, sorry. I must be such a disappointment-"_

"I can't write that either." It was too self-loathing- too heavy-handed, he supposed. Another shake of the head. Another paper thrown. This was starting to become a pattern.

" _Dear Marcassin, crown prince and ruler of Hamelin,_

 _I would like to inform you that I would like to talk. If it pleases you, may I take up a bit of your time? It has been quite a while. I shall not be a bother to you if you cannot spare a minute…"_

"Hmm… Maybe… He'd probably read that. It seems proper enough." This time, the paper was held up in front of its creator, silently being judged and awaiting its fate.

"What are you doing," sounded a curious redhead, leaning in and reading the letter. They had been taking a small break after clearing the ash of Ding Dong Dell. It would be up soon as the time was of the utmost importance. "…You're writing to Marcassin," he wondered after a moment. "Why's it so formal?"

"He's the crown prince of Hamelin. I can't just be casual."

"He's your brother. I think he'd understand." The boy looked over to the subject at hand, sitting a few feet away on a nearby log. "Also. He's right there. Just talk to him."

"I can't just talk to him, Oliver. We haven't really talked in fifteen years," he scoffed.

"Yeah, you have."

"Oh please. That _was not_ talking!"

"You talked _to_ him a few times before."

"With you and the others present! I mean, _talk_ talk. Just me and him confiding in each other." He gestured between himself and the boy.

"Then just go up and say, 'hey'."

"You do not just simply say, _'hey,'_ to one of the highest powers in the land, Oliver!"

"You do if it's your brother."

"Yes. My brother… My brother who I haven't really known in fifteen years."

"Hmmm… That's true."

"How do I say, 'hey', to a complete stranger?"

"He doesn't seem that different." The boy shrugged. "He's just… grown up."

"You don't understand." He flailed his arms over his head. "He hasn't just 'grown up'- he's had his fair share of turmoil. There were the trials, our people suffering from heartbreak, let alone managing the kingdom. He's had to deal with wars- the fall of Xanadu! And I wasn't there to help him through it."

"You couldn't help that."

He scoffed again. "Like hell, I couldn't. There are so many things I could have done- I could have said to help him! Now here we are, sitting a few feet away from each other and I can't say a damn thing because of it. I'd be out of line, Oliver."

"But you're not when you're with us?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"We're trying to save the world, that's how. We _have_ to talk, then."

"He's tried talking to you before! Remember?"

He waved it away as he squinted over at a nearby rock. "If you mean after the Clarion, that was just banter."

"That didn't seem like banter…"

Silence. Thoughts were being processed in the older man's head.

"You're missing the point." He sighed. "We're just… not on good terms." He looked at the man reading his own copy of the Wizard's Companion. "He's not the same little brother I knew fifteen years ago. He's not the same person."

"That doesn't matter. He's your family, isn't he? Isn't he all you have, now?" The boy looked up determinedly. "You'll just be alone if you two don't get along. That's the worst fate anyone can have, Swaine."

He turned to the wizard with a scowl. "You don't think I know that?! I've lived alone for fifteen _years_ -!"

"No, I mean, not having any family. You knew he was alive, so you weren't as worried, right?"

"Well, yeah. It's not like we don't get along, far from it." He reached up and gripped his hair. "I'd do anything for him. I just don't know how to talk _to_ him without making a fool of myself."

"So? I never had a brother…" Oliver rubbed the back of his hair. "I mean, I guess Phil is kind of like a brother. I know if I did something to make us stop talking for a while and I wanted to try talking again, I'd eventually try. Even if it's just, 'Hi. Sorry for that thing I did' or 'Hey'."

"This is different. This is so much different than that." He looked down. "Look, Oliver… Thank you for trying to help, but this is the only way I can think of. I…," he paused as he looked over at the sage. "I don't feel comfortable talking with him alone. I'm not even sure where to start."

The rogue sighed. "I'll stick with a letter." He gave a short laugh. "I don't even know what to do with that!"

"'Would you like to talk' works. Just… say how you feel. Don't worry about being formal." The kid smiled up at him. "He'll understand."

"Hmm…" He continued to study him. "You really think so?"

The kid looked over at the engrossed young man. "Yeah. He may have gone through a lot… but he's still Marcassin. I mean, you're still Gascon, right?"

"Gascon? Well, I'm not as cocky or arrogant as before, but you know…" He smirked. "I believe if he had grown up a bit, we'd be very similar people."

"Wait… what?"

"Yes. Technically I _am_ still Gascon by blood." He shook his head. "But I'm not some spoiled royal prince hiding his issues under a massive ego."

A snicker sounded.

"What?"

"You still do that."

"Well, I don't talk about my issues, but I'm not about to deny the facts, alright?" He shrugged. "I won't fight you when I know I'm wrong. I just move on."

"That's what you do with Esther…?"

"Yep." He stretched. "You just don't have time to fuss about the small stuff. Might as well focus on the present, huh?"

"Yeah," he giggled.

"Well good luck. It's something at least." With that, the boy left him to his devices.

"That it is…" He held up the paper again. Its fate was decided. Another ball of paper discarded on the ground.

" _Dear Marcassin,_

 _Hey. It's been a while. How have you been? I mean that, truly. We haven't talked in a long time. Well, here it is. This is all I can seem to do to try and reconnect._

 _Look, I know I haven't been around. I didn't stay true to my word. There were probably several times when you could have used me by your side. I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry for not writing you, either. I could have said anything- anything just to let you know I was alright- that I was alive and well. I could at least have given you advice. I didn't. I let you down. I know that. For that, too, I'm sorry._

 _I just want to chat, like old times. Remember when we used to dream of building_ flying _hog tanks? We started with a regular model hog tank. That failed spectacularly. That didn't stop us. Father thought we were insane because that was all we talked about at one time. Or that time we tried to sneak into the workshops. Or, hell, when I took you to Tombstone Trail- not with Oliver- the time before that. We got in such trouble- not just with father, the creatures there, too. It was fun, regardless. I wouldn't trade any of that for anything._

 _I missed you so much, brother. When I wasn't off making a fool of myself doing who knows what, I thought about you- what you probably accomplished without me. I thought about how much you probably had grown since… since father-"_

He had to stop for a moment to recollect himself. He just stared down at the paper in silence. He cleared his throat. "…Maybe I shouldn't-," he hesitated before he began to put his pen to paper again. "No. It needs to be said." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Just keep going, Gascon. You can do this," he whispered.

" _Since father passed away._

 _On that note, you've grown well. You look healthy, as healthy as could be for anyone in your condition. Well… I guess you've been kinder to yourself than I. You've definitely gotten stronger and more capable since I left. It goes without saying, but being alone will do that._

 _Disregarding that spell of lunacy you had- heartbreak is an uncontrollable mess, I know- you've run the kingdom well. It's still standing. That's a good sign. The people are in good health and spirits. Though it's still pretty smoggy, the city itself seems to be glowing with new knowledge and life. You've even managed to appoint some trustworthy men by your side, I see._

 _What new innovations have you allowed Hamelin to churn out, I wonder? I'm certain that you wouldn't let them all twiddle their thumbs. It would go against our country's very nature. There has to be_ something _new. Well, whatever they are, brother, I hope I get to see them._

 _Lastly, Marcassin, I love you- I just wanted to remind you that. You're my brother. You're the only family I have. I hope we can eventually just talk… face to face, brother to brother. I'd like that._

 _With care,_

 _Gascon"_

He seemed to decompress as he slumped forward, the letter done. He sat back up and read it. He shook his head. This was it. Now it was time to see how he faired. He got up from his place on the rock. He folded the note as he approached his brother who had found a log to sit on.

Whistling idly, he feigned a careless drop, letting it land on the book. When he noticed the sage flinch in surprise at the note, he quickly turned around.

Marcassin studied it for a moment, then looked up in the direction it had fallen. There was no one near. With a puzzled look, he traced it back to the cad who was now near the rock he had been lounging on. When Swaine sat down, he took out his pellet gun and started to inspect it, even pulling out a couple of small tools from his coat to adjust parts of it for maintenance.

The prince looked back down at the letter. "I wonder what this is about…" He opened it and began to read.

"Ah. There we have it!" He twirled the pickpocketing gun excitedly. The weapon was back in top shape. He had tuned it to perfection once again. He held the gun up in front of his eyes to check and see if he missed anything. When he lowered it, he nearly jumped out of his skin. His younger brother had approached him with a note in hand. "Hmm? Marcassin…?"

"Since we're passing notes like school children, here," he joked as he handed him the paper with a small smile.

He looked down at the note before taking it. He studied it after it was in possession, looking up only to find the Great Sage of Hamelin had sat back down on the log.

"Huh," was all he could say to that. He opened the note.

" _Gascon,_

 _Why are we writing each other? I'm right in front of you. Oh well. I suppose it_ is _less awkward than talking at the moment- something I agree we should get better at. I'm open to talk any time you need, whatever it may be._

 _Like you missed me, I to have missed you. I missed you ever since father's death. I missed you ever since you left. I missed you even when you were still around- when you started to resent father, when you started to doubt yourself._

 _I believed in you. I wanted to believe in you when I was heartbroken- I just couldn't. Until then, Gascon, I never stopped believing in you. I_ still _think the highest of you._

 _You overcame your limitations. Even if it isn't the most glamorous- it's illegal, in fact- you found something you're good at. Technically, there were always other things you were exceptionally skilled at. Engineering and machine work was never an issue of your comprehension. Of all the things I admired about you, it was your ability to make something out of literally nothing if you really had the nerve. You never needed magic. You could always find a way, even if it took longer._

 _If I could do_ half _of the things you do, brother… If I had the stubbornness you had, I could do just about anything._

 _Yes. It's been a_ long _time. Yes, there were times when I thought of how much better it would be if you could help me through the troubles I faced. I'm sure there were times you wished I was there to help you through yours. So, it's alright, Gascon. You still helped me recover from heartbreak- something that could have very well ended Hamelin itself. Now we have saved it from that horrid ash. Together._

 _And together, we can finally build that flying hog tank we always dreamed of. I think we could pull it off. Though… we do already have something similar, yet less fortified than our original plans, now. They're kind of like cloud sweepers. I think you'd appreciate them greatly._

 _Please, Gascon, do not hesitate to just come over and talk. I heard your conversation with Oliver before. I will not and shall not judge you._

 _Yours,_

 _Marcassin"_

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he finished the letter. His heart was caught in his throat. He didn't know how to react. His left hand gripped the paper tightly, while his right rested on his gun next to him. He felt tears start to form in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.

He got up, folding the slightly crumpled note and strode across the grassy space in between them. As he pocketed his pickpocketing gun, he sat down next to his brother in silence.

The sage didn't look up from the book- he was reading the tale about the forbidden spell from what the thief could tell. He seemed content with the story so far.

"Hey," he began with a small smile, glancing at his younger brother with his eyes.

"Yes, Gascon," was the response. The prince looked up from his reading with a quizzical but pleased smile.

He finally faced him, his smile spreading across his face. "How are you…?"

~.~.~

 **This was an interesting one. I kind of wanted to do a better version of my "Closure" fic again. (*Sarcastically* I'm not re-hashing things. No, not at all.)**

 **Slightly inspired by how some people will text each other in the same room, but only this is on a slightly more emotional and deeper level than people being lazy. Also slightly inspired by the complete ending theme of Steven Universe and** _ **True**_ **by Amaranthe.**

 **At some point, I feel like they sat down and started talking. I** **don't know how. I don't know when. I know that at the end of the game, they're chatting like Gascon never left. I love it. I just wonder how they got to that point sometimes. They don't talk often outside of what we see in the game, so it makes me wonder.**

 **Thoughts? Even if not, I hope you enjoyed.**


	24. Parentage

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ni no Kuni. I do not own the ideas for the section regarding what happens directly after defeating Shadar.**

 **Spoilers ahead.**

~.~.~

He sat on top of a hill, late at night, overlooking the western shores of Autumnia. He had woken up from a sound sleep, the howling of the wind jarring him awake.

As much as Esther joked about him sleeping deeply and noisily, she was wrong. He _couldn't_ sleep for too long. He never could- not since became a thief. He always had to be on his guard. He always had to be ready to fight.

There were times, he found, with them that he managed to get a full night's rest. _Those_ were the times she joked about. He felt secure- the fact that he was part of a group meant safety in numbers. He could count on them to have his back.

Then, even with this security, the more challenges they faced… the closer they got to facing Shadar… the more easily jarred awake by the smallest sound he was. He sometimes combatted this by walking around away from the group, careful not to wake them.

He wouldn't dare compromise their strength. It wasn't worth it. He could handle himself half awake. He had been for years. He sighed as he continued to listen to the waves washing onto the shore.

His sleep wasn't worth their safety. Maybe once upon a time, in another life as a cocky arrogant prince, he would have thought nothing of it, disturbed everyone for his sake, and then gladly went back to bed. He smirked at how much he had changed. He had walked up the hill for that purpose.

He lifted his head from the view at the sound of grass crunching beneath shoes. He turned his head to find the young mage who the familiar tamer and he had accompanied. "Hey… Oliver…," he quietly inquired. "What are you doing up? It's late."

The red-headed boy paused. "I… Umm…"

He glanced down at the boy's bag and left arm. Under the arm was his personal tome of spells. In his right hand, the still incomplete Mornstar. "I see. Going for some late-night practice, are you?"

He grinned. "Haha, yeah." He walked up to beside the trench coat-clad man. "Shouldn't _you_ be in bed, Swaine? We've got a long day tomorrow."

He smiled at the boy. "Draw." He stretched and put his hands behind his head.

"How could you tell I was going to practice…?"

"I've seen the signs before," he said with one eye open to his young friend. "So what spells are on the agenda?"

"Oh you know," he began tilting his head away from the thief and towards the sky. "Spells I haven't really been using too much. Fireball and Frostbite for the most part."

He leaned forward suddenly and looked up at him. "Those two spells?! You've used them plenty!"

"But I'm afraid I'll forget them."

The man on the ground shook his head. "Trust me. You won't."

"Are you sure?"

"Once you've practiced them twenty or so times, it stays in there," he answered as he got to his feet. He held out his hand. "Here. Allow me to prove it to you."

The boy backed away suddenly. "Wait- what? You know how to use magic?"

"I know how to cast spells. Or at least the steps leading up to it," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"But I thought-"

"You thought what?"

"Well… I know this has to do with your past and all but… Umm…"

The man stared at the mage patiently, a slightly annoyed frown on his face. Eventually, he feigned a smirk as he realized what he was getting at. "You do realize I was still _trained_ to replace my father, right? I've read the Wizard's Companion."

"Oh… Uh…" The boy nervously shifted, tapping the toe of a shoe. "I didn't mean to say-"

"Oliver," he snapped. "It's alright." He sighed and looked back at the ocean. "I don't know what kind of deal you lot made, but this is about your magic- not my past."

"…You hate talking about it, though."

"If it's not pertinent." He looked back at the boy. "What's the point if the situation at hand is far more important?!" He shrugged. "It's just history- _my_ history- but history." He held his hand out again. "With that said, may I borrow your wand?"

Oliver lifted the wand and looked at it. He seemed to study it for a moment before nodding at the thief and handing it over.

The man turned back to face the bay. He lifted the wand and began to draw the rune for Chart Chests in the sky, the rune glowing a bright teal like green based on his magical aura.

"Wait… You can draw the spell? Geepers…"

"I have a tiny reserve of magic, yes," he commented, grinning slyly. "It's just so weak, that the spell doesn't work." He leaned back as he observed his handiwork.

Dropping the subject, though still surprised, the boy studied the rune. "It doesn't look right…"

"No, that's the spell. That's Chart Chests," he defended. "I recall practicing this one quite a lot as a kid- I really wanted to find treasure." He seemed to smile at the memory of his younger self-practicing for moments on end just for a chance at an easy find.

"No… I don't think so." The boy stopped for a moment and opened the spell book. He turned to the page the spell Chart Chests was on. Sure enough, it matched the rune his friend had drawn. "Oh."

"Hah! Told you!"

"That one's easy! What about… Umm… Vacate!"

He drew it again- from memory.

The boy looked up the spell. It was matched perfectly to the one in the book. "Gee… Wow."

"Father drilled these into mine and Marcassin's heads pretty hard. Just about every spell in the book, save for a few higher leveled ones…" He scratched the back of his head. "I think there are a few he didn't teach us because of how intense they were."

"Huh… So, any spell?"

" _Any_ spell," the former royal responded.

"Hmmm… So… something like Magic Lantern?

Almost without thought, the man went into action, drawing the rune flawlessly. "It's a shame I don't have the capacity to actually cast any of these," he said with a sigh as he stared at the glowing green symbol.

"Why not? I bet with a lot of practice you could be pretty good!"

A shake of the head. "Nah. It took me _years_ to be able to do just _this_. Actually casting a spell…?" He raised an eyebrow. "The last time I tried I wore myself out. And that was with _one_ spell- one time casting it!" He tilted his focus towards his sole audience member as he scratched the back of his head. "I think I even passed out. Marcassin found me, luckily… I think I would have lied there in the training grounds for hours." He groaned as he rolled his eyes towards the still glowing rune. "I gave up on the idea not long after."

"I believe you can," the kid cheered. "If you just try-"

"No. I just don't have it in me. Magic…" He wiped the rune away and sat down on the grass. "Is just one of those talents you either have or you don't."

Oliver joined him and took up the wand Swaine had set down. "I get it…" He looked down at Mornstar as he traced the shape of it. "Sorry."

"Eh?! Sorry? What for?"

"I brought up your issues with magic- with your... other identity."

"I can't fault you for curiosity…," he sighed as he lied down on the grass, his hands under his head. He stared up at the sky. "My lack of magic is no less a fact than- well," he started to reason, looking around nervously. "That we exist. It's a constant," he concluded with a shrug.

"It must be hard for you…"

He winced, and he grunted as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't pity me, Oliver. I'm an everyday bloke." He shrugged again. "What's there to pity?"

A lot, really… He had lost so much, fallen so far. Even he knew that. Was he being nonchalant for _his_ sake or…? Then again, Swaine was Swaine- the man always seemed to move forward despite how close to his chest he kept his personal dilemmas.

He lied down on the ground himself, laying diagonally opposed to his friend. When he looked above himself, he could see the thief's tangled mess of hair. "For what it's worth, you're a pretty cool 'everyday bloke'," he complimented the reclined thief.

Stunned silence followed. "…Thanks, Oliver." He shifted to remove his right hand. He held it towards the sky, arm outstretched. "You know… I used to come out here- okay...," he hesitated when he sensed his friend's confusion. "Not here but the hills just outside of Hamelin by myself, sometimes in the dead of night. I would trace the stars and make pictures of them."

"Like constellations? We have some pretty neat ones in my world."

"I'm sure you do," he replied with a smirk. "Even we have a good few." He shook his head as he chuckled to himself. "Those are great and all, but I made new ones. I gave them stories- stories of people or things who never existed."

The boy shrugged. "That sounds like legends to me."

"Hardly. They were just silly little tales. Nothing too grand." He shook his head again. "The original tales are far better, looking back on them."

Oliver gave a short laugh- huff of air and sound. He stared up as he shared the sky with the older man. "Hey, I think I see Leo!"

"'Leo'? That's one from your world, right?" He smirked mirthfully. "The lion constellation. That's one we share." He reached back and rubbed the top of his hair. "I'm actually born under that one."

"Huh? You guys have astrological signs in this world, too?"

"Oh yeah!" He laughed. "Might be a little different than yours, but sure. It's one of the ways we keep track of the year, even."

"That's cool!" He continued to study the sky. "That one looks kind of like hog armor," he realized, pointing up at another part of the sky.

"Huh?" He followed his hand. "How so?"

The boy began to trace the image out with his hand and the thief followed along. "See, these are the ears. Here's the nose."

"Ah. Yes, I see it. " His eyes shifted to another part of the sky. "Oh! A dragon!"

"What?! Really?!" He frantically looked from star to star, looking for the same group the thief saw. "I really want to see."

"Hah! Calm down," Swaine eased as he raised his hand to guide him. "There. See the wings and the head? There's the tail and the legs."

The boy craned his head as he stared at the group of lights. "It… kind of looks like a strange dog…" And it did… to him, anyway. The creature had four legs and a long tail. The area where he supposed the thief called the wings may have well been a hump on the dog's back.

"You're not looking at it from my point of view." He saw a giant ferocious beast in his mind's eye. It kind of reminded him of the red dragon they fought in Skull Cavern.

He blinked again as he tilted his head once more. He could kind of see what he meant a little better. "Gee… I guess you're right. There are so many ways to look at the sky."

"Yup. Like life."

"…"

At the stunned silence, he tilted his head to the side. What was going through this kid's mind? "What?"

"Oh… nothing. It's just... That was really profound."

"Nah. Anyone would pick up that kind of thought. You've just got to look hard enough. That's all."

"True, but not everyone looks at it like you do."

"No one looks at things the same," he grunted as he shifted. "You may see hog armor, someone else sees a cat."

Oliver went quiet in thought. "What do you think people think when they see us?"

"Well one of them is definitely, 'Oh! Travelers!'" He grinned widely. His smile fell when he thought of the perturbed faces when they stole a glance at him. He always felt a little leery of what they were thinking. "Sadly I believe also have their suspicions- doubts, even."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" He rubbed the back of his head. "I guess you've already proved one of them wrong. You definitely proved me wrong." He chuckled.

"Yeah. I guess you're right." The wizard rolled over on his stomach to look over at his friend. "What's the other?"

Silence… He seemed to consider his next thoughts. What _did_ Oliver think of him…? "Nevermind. It… Really doesn't matter." He tilted his head up to look into the boy savior's eyes. "They're just phantoms of my own suspicions. Nothing more."

Oliver grunted in acknowledgment. Whatever it was, whatever the thief had previously thought- he seemed to be over it. Or at least he hoped he had. While the man kept his wounds hidden, he had definitely come a long way since that day in Castaway Cove. He rolled over to look at the sky. "I really hope people remember us. Or what we're doing."

"Oh, they will." He looked over at a few other stars. "The boy who saved the world… _You'll_ be talked about for a long time, kiddo."

"So will you," he reminded him, cheerily.

"Nah… Me and Esther- we'll both be forgotten." He nodded. "I'm fine with that. I don't think I could really deal with all the praise."

That was… weird. He loved showing off if there was something to boast. "What?! Really?! You don't want to get _any_ recognition?"

"No. Not really. I've already done my share- all I need is the peace that comes with it." Perhaps he'd settle down somewhere quiet. He supposed he had enough excitement for a lifetime to come.

"Umm… Sure. If that's what you want."

The thief shrugged again. "What can I say. I'm a simple man." Perhaps even a cottage somewhere in the middle of the woods would do, he presumed.

"What are you two doing," a familiar tamer's voice called out to the pair.

Swaine flinched in his spot, his eyes widening.

"Oh! Esther! We're just looking at the stars," the boy cheered. "Wanna join?"

She scowled momentarily, specifically at the thief. She finally sat and lied down with them. "You left the camp unattended…," she directed her complaint more towards the thief.

"I know," he simply responded, his face calm and at ease as the cool night air breezed over them. "The creatures out here aren't as rowdy with how strong we are- they can sense it." He shifted again. "Just…" He stretched his arms above him. "Relax."

She hummed in thought, not bothering to continue the argument. "I wonder what will happen now…" She looked up at the stars. "We have to find a way to live our lives when this is all over."

"Yeah…," Oliver chimed in. "It's going to be weird for me…"

"Huh? Why's that," the thief wondered.

"Well, it's just… I'd have to figure out how to hide my magic abilities and I can't say _anything_ about this." He shrugged. "I mean I already hide it… but… I'd have to hide it more. I'd have to act like none of this ever happened- that you guys never existed."

"Ah… I see." He squinted up at the night sky. "You could stay here with us, you know."

"Where would I live…," the boy pondered.

The man shrugged- a silent "I don't know, you figure it out."

"You could live in Al Mamoon! We have a spare room at my house," Esther cheered. She waved her hands above her head. "It would be like having a little brother!"

"Eh… Maybe… It's really hot." Oliver tilted his head towards the girl.

"I agree. It _does_ get a little too intense, even for me…," Swaine jabbed.

" _Everything's_ too intense for you, Swaine," she snapped back. "You're such a big baby."

"I am not," he retorted with a grin. "I am a big _adult_ , thank you," he quipped.

The girl groaned at his joke. "Anyway, so if not Al Mamoon, where?"

"Ding Dong Dell…?"

"Ooh! Yeah! We could build a house near there," the rogue observed.

"With what," Esther asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, we'll think of _something_! It doesn't have to be fancy!"

"Yeah. It could be a log cabin," the mage said with a chuckle. "Though Hamelin would be fun. It kind of reminds me of Motorville, but with more machines."

"Hamelin's kind of chilly, though," Esther noted.

"And Yule isn't," the thief countered.

"Okay, comparing Hamelin to Yule is like comparing Al Mamoon to Old Smokey."

"Wait… Aren't they in different continents- Hamelin and Yule," Oliver recalled quizzically. He shook his head. "I dunno what I'll do, guys. We'll see after the battle."

"Sounds like a reasonable plan," Swaine posed, nodding alongside the familiar tamer.

Just then, a shooting star passed overhead.

"Oh! A dragon's breath," Esther chimed.

"A what…," Oliver wondered.

"It's another name for a shooting star because they're as rare as a dragon's flame," she explained. "Some people make wishes on them."

"Then…," the boy nodded. He had the perfect wish in mind. He never wanted to let go of these nights, days, even moments with these two… and Drippy who had remained passed out down at the camp. He clasped his hands over his blue shirt covered chest. _I wish that no matter what happens, we'll always be able to see each other and remember each other._

"So what did you wish," Swaine prodded.

"You're not supposed to say," Esther hissed.

Oliver giggled. "I just wished for friendship. That's all…"

"Ha! Wish granted," the thief jested.

The familiar tamer giggled as well, raising her hands in the air towards the sky. "Yeah," she cheered.

* * *

How could it have come to… to this…? They had fought so hard. They had come so far. Even after mostly recovering from the initial shock of what they had learned- that the boy they had grown so close to was connected to that- that wretch- nothing could have prepared them for this.

Before the harpist's and the gunslinger's very eyes, their friend they had agreed to defend and protect had… vanished. Nothing was left of him.

Esther fell to her knees. The thief stumbled towards the Wizard's Companion that glowed a soft blue light. Drippy, the fairy, waddled close to it, seemingly just as bewildered as the rest of them.

"Oliver…," the familiar tamer wondered as the realization began to completely settle in and morph into reality.

"Can… can he really be gone," were the words that came tumbling out of the man's mouth.

"I-is he…? He can't be," Esther asked him fretfully as she too stared down at the glowing book.

"No- No way! He can't be! He can't! He's just a kid…" He felt tears form at the corner of his eyes as he stared at the book. He heard whimpering behind him. "This… This isn't-," he began to stammer. The whimpering turned into bawling. "H-Huh…?" He turned his attention behind him.

"This isn't fair," a forlorn Esther wailed, finishing his statement. The man turned to find her kneeling on the ground hunched over, her eyes wide with fear and grief. "Oliver… He…," she whimpered again. "This isn't fair," she cried out again.

He breathed in sharply. "Damn," he exhaled. "You're just a kid, too…" He frowned down at the sobbing mess of a girl. He knelt down and pulled her into a hug. "Come here," he said as he held her close to his chest. He rested his head on hers as he rubbed her back slowly, comfortingly. "It's okay," he comforted… even though he knew it was far from that.

Her eyes widened even further at the sudden embrace. She didn't have time to question it. Instead, she accepted whatever comfort he provided. Anyone. Anything. She just needed someone to lean on at that moment. Her eyes softened and eventually closed as she wrapped her arms around the ragged man. She gripped the back of his jacket as she trembled.

"Neither of you," he began as he held back his own anguish, looking back at the doors they had entered just a few hours ago. "Should have had to see, or do, any of this," he stated regretfully. _No kid should…_ he begrudgingly thought.

He wished he could have stepped in his place. He wished he had the power that kid had. If it meant saving him- if it meant that he'd live or at least have the chance to live… He'd do it.

He failed to protect them… He added it to the list. Once again, he was powerless. Some older brother he was… Some guardian… "It isn't fair," he heard her continue to whimper into his shirt. "It isn't- why? It isn't fair," she stammered, repeating the words to herself. Who said life was ever fair…? He glanced down at the fairy who now stood by the book, one tiny hand on its cover as he mourned the recently departed. "Ollie-boy," he heard him moan. "No…! No. No…"

He was… gone. This was the end of their journey. They had done it. They had defeated Shadar… They had lost their best friend- and there was no bringing him back.

For once, a spark of hope visited the trio. A spark that seemed familiar.

The man lifted his head, alerting his only other friend. He hummed curiously as the light began to grow above the Companion.

Esther blinked and, with a shaky breath, asked, "What's that…?" She released him, Swaine following suit. They both stood and watched the glimmer formed into a small glowing hole.

"Could- could it be…," the thief wondered with almost hopeful glee. He had his fists held up in front of him if that was any clue.

"I reckon so," the fairy nodded, almost certain of it. He lifted his nose towards the light in anticipation.

Then… From the light, a familiar red-headed wizard appeared and fell through, seemingly unconscious.

A wave of relief, of happiness, seemed to wash over the three and they all shouted his name in unison and bolted towards the previously dead teen. The thief seemed to be bouncing up and down on his feet as the familiar tamer looked the boy over. The fairy jumped high at first and continued to beam at him.

"I'm not dreaming this, am I," Swaine shouted, his grin incorrigible. He reached out and tapped the rising kid on the shoulder. Even more, relief washed through him when he realized the permanence of his form. This was real.

He was back… He was… Alive. Even as Esther began to wonder about Shadar's possible return, they found comfort in this fact.

When all was said and done, this was the best ending to their journey. Even as the thief tripped over a raised tree root and caught himself, he looked at them with a proud, relieved grin.

They had come so far… They all wondered what was ahead of them now.

* * *

"There you have it," a man in a green jacket called out, watching his young pupil practice and successfully cast Mornstar once again. His voice rang out through the hills, carrying the excitement away with it.

On the crest of one of the hills, A black-haired man in regal attire and a young girl watched them as her compatriot adjusted his student's arm for better casting. "Sometimes I wonder about that man," the familiar tamer chimed in from next to him. He jarred his head to the side to acknowledge her.

"How do you mean," he asked her.

"I mean, aside from Oliver… and probably you, I wonder what he'd be like if he actually had the responsibility of being a parent." She pressed her arms on her hips as she watched him cheer the boy on once more. "I doubt he'd do that well."

"I believe he'd be more than responsible," the man said with a sigh, returning his attention to his brother.

"Swaine?! I don't know if he'd know what to do with a kid!"

"What do you mean…?" He turned again to face her. "I believe my brother has done an exceptional job already."

Confused by his statement, she stepped back. "Huh?" She shared the view the great sage had of the pair.

He continued to watch as the elder prince guised as a lowly thief leaned over the mage. He pointed at a nearby stone, telling Oliver where to aim his wand. The ruler supposed he was trying to help him focus his magic in a more efficient manner. "Take what he's doing with Oliver, for example." He gestured to the sight- Oliver was preparing to cast Mornstar again while Swaine backed away, though with eager intent on his face. "He's quite eager to help him strengthen his magic as he was with me."

"But… couldn't anyone do that, Marcassin? People have been giving us spells. And it's not like Oliver hasn't been practicing." Even as she argued this she couldn't help but smile down at the pair. It was just weeks ago that they all thought the kid dead. There he was… practicing spells with Swaine.

The mage shook his head. "No. Not in the way my brother has been taught." He watched as the man below them lectured his pupil about proper stance and form, even providing an example with himself… and a random stick that he found lying around. "Now copy my movements, alright," he ordered, nodding at the boy. The boy nodded back and they began to practice once more.

"We were taught from an early age the proper way to cast spells. We were reminded every day to keep our backs straight, our minds clear, and our stances wide- as if wielding a sword." He nodded as the thief stopped to correct Oliver's stance again. "And while he can never hope to cast a single spell, he has decided to make use of all of those lessons."

"But… What does that have to do with him being a good father…?"

Marcassin turned to the girl, smiling. "He's proud of both of you," he answered. "He talks about you two- how far you've come rather incessantly…" He looked down once more. "He said something once… He's constantly afraid."

Esther laughed. "I could have told you that-"

"But do you know the reason why," he pointedly asked.

She didn't respond.

He took a momentary glance back at her. "He's afraid he won't be strong enough. He's afraid _you_ won't be strong enough. Above all, he's afraid of losing you two." He sighed as he remembered something. "He told me on the Iron Wyvern about what happened in Nevermore." He recalled the sullen face he had of the memory. He recalled the trembling of his older brother.

"He said he never wanted to go through with that again. He never wanted you two, either." He turned to face her. "I'd say, he's become quite the worthy parent." He glanced back at the laughing student and teacher. Apparently, Oliver had tried to cast Mornstar at an awkward stance.

"That's one way to cast a spell," Swaine commented, with a nervous chuckle. He outstretched his hand to help the kid up.

"He would never admit it, but… Of all things, Gascon is extremely compassionate about people close to him- especially family members." He smiled fondly at the man dressed in rags. "He's only ever been that way about me… and usually, he's trying to help me," he continued to reminisce. "I'm glad to see Gascon has continued to move forward in every way he can."

A bang sounded from below and the two on the hill looked down to find Oliver on the ground again.

"I think that's enough practice for the day…," the thief advised, crouching over the boy. He scratched the back of his head as he briefly looked away.

"I want to learn how to be a better wizard! I can't stop now," the boy protested as he began to lift himself off of the ground.

He swiftly returned his attention to him, raising an eyebrow. "You're already a force to be reckoned with! I'm just giving you pointers," Swaine reminded his "student" with an exaggerated shrug.

"But they're good ones! I _have_ to master them," he adamantly shouted as he scrambled to his feet, picking up his wand.

"Okay, okay! I'm just looking out for your health. No need to get snippy," he bit back, his arms crossed. Despite his tone, he smirked at the boy's determination. Who was he kidding?! This kid could probably survive anything after all that they had been through.

A chuckle sounded beside Esther. "Hmmm," she hummed curiously. "What is it?"

"I recall that exact same conversation between he and I when I was seven," he recalled fondly. He placed a hand on his chin in thought. "He truly is my brother."

"You weren't sure before…?"

"Even with all the evidence, I had the tiniest of doubts." He laughed at himself. "My belief in his identity remains steadfast, despite them."

"Oliver! We're back from picking flowers," a call from the other side sounded. Pea had returned to them with Drippy in tow.

"Found some real beauties, didn't we," the fairy more exclaimed than asked as he followed the green haired girl down the hill.

Pea lifted the assortment of flowers to Oliver. "Take some! They're for you, Oliver," she pleaded with a cheery small smile.

"I'll take some later, Pea. I have more magic training to do!"

Her smile fell as she tilted her head curiously up at him. "But Oliver, you're already so good at magic."

Swaine laughed and threw a hand out towards Oliver. "That's what I keep telling him!" He looked over at the subject at hand. "Honestly. Take a break."

The boy looked up at his tutor. "After a few more spells…?"

Swaine groaned impatiently and turned his gaze towards the sky. He heaved a reluctant sigh before glancing back down at the boy. " _Fine_ ," he drawled. "Then will you take a break?"

Oliver giggled and gave a small smile. "Sure!"

"I want to watch you," Pea requested excitedly.

"Well, it's not safe down by here, is it," the fairy observed. "We ought to move out of the way."

"A fair point indeed," the rogue agreed as he began to look around. He smirked when he spied his younger brother and the familiar tamer on the nearby hill. "We've already got an audience."

"We do," Oliver wondered. He followed the man's gaze and saw what he meant. He waved up at them. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out. "Marcassin! Esther! Enjoying the show?!"

The girl giggled. "Sure! You're doing great," she called back.

The younger prince joined in as well, "Don't wear yourself too thin, Oliver!"

As Pea ran up the hill with Drippy staying behind to help- much to Swaine's unseen annoyance- the mage nodded. "I'll try," he returned to them. He took the stance his teacher had showed him and resumed his practice.

He had earned another chance at life once more… He had earned a chance to save their world- a world he now treasured so much for all the memories he made there. He wasn't about to waste it. Even if it was just by a little, he'd increase his potential- moving forward bit by bit.

~.~.~

 **Author's Note:**

 **Greetings! Another chapter/drabble here for you all. This one's inspired by the last episode of "Alice isn't Dead" and a small fan comic on Tumblr by MooshkaMoogle\- the middle section specifically. **

**Speaking of which… I know the cutscene in the game didn't exactly play out like that. I tried to merge the fan comic and the two together as best as I could. I think including it gave that scene a little more character depth. (Also, I absolutely _love_ how giddy Swaine is when Oliver comes back. He looks like he's kind of bouncing in place. I feel like his internal thought process here is "Yay! You're not dead!") **

**In case those of you are unaware, (and probably haven't read my other lengthy fic, _Heroes and Thieves_ ) I really like the idea of Swaine tutoring Oliver, or even just teaching magic in general despite his lack of magic ability. I really feel like that was a missed opportunity in the game. I often think of his past and this one fanart I saw of the group sitting together. In it, Oliver has the Wizard's Companion open and there are the various spells he's learned so far floating around everyone. It's a good pic. The artist goes by okaybeex on Deviantart. Check them out! **

**At any rate. I hope you all enjoyed this mess. Sorry, it rambled on.**


	25. Broken Crown

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is another fic inspired by a comic** **Mooshkamoogle** **made. I actually do own the song near the end. At least I believe I do.**

~.~.~

He awoke in a cold sweat. He wrapped himself with his arms, shivering from the nightmare, from the fear he had barely managed to escape. He looked around the dark room at the door, at the expanse, and thought himself fortunate that the fairy's nose lantern actually illumined the room slightly.

After a dream like that, he could definitely use the light. The nightmare was simple: he had tried to kill himself- his double. There was another him- like a soul mate. There was something inherently evil about him. He had approached him and without thinking the "him" that he saw through stabbed him with a dagger. When he fell, it seemed that his view switched places with the injured "villainous" doppelganger.

He pleaded for his life as the "him" he once controlled approached. He remembered raising his hand in a weak attempt to stay him. With a sinister smirk, his attacker raised the knife. Like a pendulum, his arm swung down.

He heard himself scream. Darkness.

He shivered again, thinking about it. His small back tensed up at the very thought of the nightmare.

 _Are we doing the right thing…?_ He thought when he thought more on the dream. _What if we've been wrong this entire time about Shadar…?_ He shook his head. No, they were right… weren't they…?

No! Shadar needed to be stopped! This was… right? Maybe they could find a way to heal him as they had with so many of the nightmare possessed and brokenhearted people. Maybe he was no more corrupt than the guardians of the forests and volcanoes. Perhaps…

He gripped his ginger hair in distress. But what if they _did_ kill him? What if… Could he live with killing him? With taking a life…?

He sat in thought. The more he thought, the more irritated at himself for a lack of an answer he became. The more he tried to come to grips with reality, the more frightened he became of it. He looked over at Drippy, still snoring away as his lantern bobbed up and down. He wanted comfort… He wanted advice… He wasn't quite sure he'd get the advice he needed.

He nudged the fairy anyway. It was only fair to at least give him a chance. The rotund yellow and blue Lord High Lord of the Fairies rolled over in response, his sleep undisturbed. He sighed in defeat. He really didn't want to force him awake- not this late at night...

He was the chosen one… right? Who better to pass judgment than he? It… all came down to him. It all came down to him. He was supposed to be the one to end it all… How was _he_ , a lone kid supposed to handle taking someone's life- be it monster or man?! Why him alone?! He shook his head, letting out a slightly more forced anguished grunt.

He turned to the door and opened it, taking one last peek around it to see if the fairy woke up from his absence… or the sound of the door being opened. Still asleep. He nodded with a small smile, despite his conflict, and left the room.

* * *

A dreamless sleep. For a time in Swaine's life, he had been plagued with nothing but horrible dreams. He hardly got any rest because of it. Now, he could afford a nice night's rest in a cozy room- all thanks to becoming part of their group. For a while, it had been hard for him to readjust to sleeping in a bed, but he eventually rediscovered his preference.

He curled himself into a ball each night they stayed at an inn under the covers, enjoying the blissful normalcy of slowly losing consciousness one moment and then waking up to the sounds and smells of the morning the other.

There was a sudden addition to his bed. His subconscious alerted his consciousness and his sense of security- or at least the instincts that attempted to maintain it- shifted into high gear. Despite this, he stayed still.

He groaned in response, letting the person who now shared his bed know he knew they were there. Despite his initial want to roll over and kick the intruder, he reasoned it could only be one of three people… or one of two people plus one fairy.

He just lied there… hoping, even praying, that it was who he thought it was. Finally, after a moment of silence, the mystery guest spoke.

"Swaine…," the voice asked. It was Oliver's. He thanked god that his gut could still be trusted- that it wasn't someone the likes of… well, himself really.

"Hmm," he groggily replied. "…What is it…?" He heard a bit of uncertainty in the young mage's voice.

"C-can I ask for your advice…?" He nervously watched the green coat clad back of the man. He didn't move, but it did seem to shift with his breathing.

Swaine quietly groaned, annoyed at the interruption. "…What time is it even…?" He lifted his head to look at the window, tilting it up to see whether light even peered in. "It's still night- probably really late…" He let his head fall back into the pillow, nestling back into its comfortable cushion. "…Go back to sleep, Oliver."

"I… er… I really can't." He stared at the back of his friend. "I had a nightmare. And…" He looked down at the covers. "I'm afraid of going back to sleep. I'm afraid if I don't get answers to these questions I have, I'll have that dream again."

At that, he could only sigh. He knew how he felt. He knew exactly how he felt. It was so late at night… "Are… are you absolutely sure," he softly implored.

The kid nodded and waited for a response.

It was quiet save for the shifting of covers. He couldn't tell what his response was. "…Did you nod…?"

"Oh… Well. Yeah. I did." He nodded again.

"Fine." He didn't roll over. Perhaps he'd just talk himself to sleep before long. No sense compromising his position. "What is it?"

"Do you think we're doing the right thing…?"

Swaine raised an eyebrow as he came up empty on what he meant. "Right thing…? Oliver, you're going to have to be more specific."

"I mean… Do you think we're doing the right thing beating Shadar… Killing him I mean…?"

At that, the thief tensed up in shock. Up until now, until the near completion of the Clarion, his resolve had been consistent. And now he had doubts?! He swiftly rolled over onto his right side. He glared at the kid. "Oliver, what the hell?!" So much for maintaining comfort and falling back asleep. "He's a monster! He _has_ to be put down!"

"But what if he isn't-?"

"You've seen him with your own eyes! You've seen what he's done to people! You've seen the lives he's tried to ruin!" He gestured to himself at the last part. "There is no saving someone as far gone as he is! You- of all people- know this…"

At the sullen look on the boy's face, or what he could make out, he lifted his head slightly. "Don't you…?"

He was right… He didn't know why he so readily agreed but… There was no saving this person… "How do you deal with this, Swaine," he wondered in a hushed whisper. "How do you deal with killing another person?"

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose at the boy's question. The truth was rather cruel and harsh- full of rage and resentment. He wanted that man to pay for the life he took, for the damage he had caused. That was all. It was so simple in his mind, but he never let it be the driving force for supporting the team.

He didn't want to say it, even if they had already known.

He thought of his answer, of his resolution to aid them, to aid his brother, and to fulfill his late father's wish. "I don't. I can't," he finally replied. "I don't look at it as murder. I look at it as performing a duty and keeping a promise I made." He stared straight at the shape of his friend's head- what little he could see from the dim lantern lights that filtered in through the window. "If that's what it takes for me to get through this, I will continue to look at it that way."

When the kid looked down at his shirt, he reached out and shook his shoulder reassuringly. "Look, I know it's tough. A lot's riding on your shoulders and it won't be easy…" He glanced towards the ceiling and scratched his scalp. "You'll get pretty beat up along the way…" He winced at the thought of the kid getting hurt, but it wasn't far from the truth. He smirked at the boy, though he doubted he could see it. "But you won't be alone…"

There was silence from the boy in front of him. He heard something… Oliver seemed to be shrinking into himself. His smirk fell. The kid was crying. Perhaps those weren't the words he needed to hear. "…Oliver," he hesitantly, quietly asked.

Just more whimpering. His heart ached. Had he said something wrong…? "Oliver, look, I'm sorry." He was shaking under his palm and he seemed almost warm to the touch now.

"I'm scared," he heard him eke out. "Why do _I_ have to do this…?"

His eyes widened and a chill washed through him, freezing him in place. " _I'm scared, Gascon… Why do_ I _have to become a sage,"_ he remembered his then seven-year-old brother cry out to him. _"Why can't you do it…?"_ He recalled his response.

" _Because you have magic and I don't."_ He tensed up at it, realizing how callous he must have sounded. _"You're the rightful heir- the future protector of the kingdom,"_ he remembered himself bitterly explaining to the boy. He squeezed his eyes shut. Marcassin had been gloomy the rest of the day but willing to practice his training- albeit barely. Nobody benefited from that, that day. He hadn't even helped soothe his brother's fears.

If he dared to say something like that again… it would only reinforce how overwhelming it was to Oliver. He didn't want to burden this kid- he was already so vulnerable.

He wasn't about to make that same mistake again. He heaved a sigh and managed to inch himself closer to him without getting up. He reached around with his left arm to comfort the crying teen. "Don't worry," he stated softly. "You're not alone," he repeated. "You're never alone," he comforted, gripping the sleeve of the boy's shirt. "Not if I have anything to say about it," he growled softly.

"How-," Oliver tried to begin. _How do I do this…?!_ He fretted in his mind. "Why do I feel this- Why can't I-," Swaine heard him echo his brother… and even himself. _What if they can't help?!_ The wizard panickily thought. "B-but I'm supposed to be… I'm supposed to be…," he faltered. _I'm supposed to be the savior!_

He didn't exactly have an answer, now did he? The thief's face scrunched up as he looked for one- anything to help his friend feel at ease. _Damn…_ This kid didn't deserve any of this stress. How and _why_ did he get roped into all of this?!

 _Now_ he knew exactly how he felt. Powerless… He felt like the world had been put on his shoulders- a weight no kid could ever hope to properly hold. Powerless… and probably unworthy, frightened, and even confused. _You've been through a lot already._ He thought of the lengthy list of things they still had to do and the perils they faced. _Damn… and you've still got plenty more to go, Oliver. You know that… don't you?_ He looked down at what he assumed to be the top of Oliver's head. "I get it- I know how terrified you must be. It's alright." He rubbed the kid's back. "You're not alone…," he repeated softly. "You're not alone…"

He looked up at the man holding him. "Th-thank you, S-Swaine," he sniffled, keeping his arms crossed in a vain attempt to stop himself from shaking.

 _Finally…_ Swaine thought as he exhaled a shaky breath. _Disaster averted._ He breathed a sigh of relief. "You're a good kid, you know?"

The boy nodded his head in the dark, the trembling slowly ebbing.

He cracked a smirk at him. "I know an old lullaby if that helps you any…" He laughed to himself. The song he thought of fit the situation almost perfectly- but he never counted his singing spectacular. "Sorry if I sing out of key."

"I- It's alright…" He closed his eyes as he tried to relax.

He took a deep breath as he recalled the words. It was a short song, only long enough to put a baby to sleep, he remembered. He had heard a servant sing it to his then-infant brother as they tended to him. He committed it to memory himself and later used it for that very same purpose.

"Whenever you're ready. Just remember- I don't have all night," he jabbed.

He heard a giggle from the shadow- though it was kind of raspy. His smirk grew into a smile. He was glad to hear that his spirits were back in good standing.

"I… I think I'm ready to try and sleep now…"

Swaine lifted his head and pulled his pillow under it. He didn't get too comfortable or else the boy wouldn't hear. "Here goes," he breathed, exhausted from the entire conversation.

He closed his eyes and began to sing.

" _May your rest be as calm as the evening desert sands,_

 _May it be as comforting as a gentle breeze over these distant lands,_

 _Sleep a sound sleep, my dear,_

 _Know you'll be safe as long as I'm near,_

 _Should the monsters of your dreams visit you- I'll drive them away,_

 _As long as you're by my side in comfort you shall lay."_

He sang as softly and as tenderly as he could. He knew it wasn't flawless- it was late and he was tired. He even suspected that he fell flat somewhere. Regardless of his musical talent, the boy rubbed his forehead against his chest, seeking out the warmth from another person as he sung. It had thrown him off at one point, but he continued on. Even with his warbling, it was comforting enough that the mage found enough peace to successfully drift off into a blissful rest.

In his sleep, Oliver softly called out to his mother. At that, Swaine sighed in relief. Only once had he ever slept that way before- a nigh long ago comforting his younger brother. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn't miss that solidarity. There was comfort in the knowledge that this kid would be alright.

"We'll do this together, kiddo." He reached up and patted the short mop of ginger hair. "Remember that, alright? You won't have to do this alone." He closed his eyes. _You're a strong wizard… but you're still a kid._

He thought of his days living in Hamelin- not a care in the world... and how he had so foolishly thrown it away. _I know you want to be tough… I know it's hard… But try to hold onto that- if you can, Oliver. We'll save the world…_ He thought as he felt his consciousness slip away from him. _Just let us carry some of that burden, will you…? Enjoy the fun while you can…_ He yawned and nestled his head deeper into the pillow. "…Rest easy, Kiddo…," he murmured in his barely awake state. "…Tomorrow is another day…"

~.~.~

 **I hope you enjoyed that fluff. As I said before, this one is inspired by a comic** **Mooshkamoogle** **made. A particular line of dialogue stuck out- "He's just a kid!" That really got my mind going- Oliver really** _ **is**_ **just a kid. All that pressure to save the world must have weighed on him and even broke him down at other points prior to the scene we do have.**

 **He'd want someone to remind him that this whole chosen one business doesn't really mean he has to do it alone. That, aside from prophetic pushing from a fairy about it's his duty, that the Dark Djinn really does need to be put down. He'd want someone to tell him that it's alright- that he won't be facing this on his own. Which he doesn't, mind you. Shadar got beaten by** _ **all**_ **of them. Yeah, Oliver was the one to disappear when Shadar did, but the battle was fought by** _ **everyone**_ **. Okay. In my case, it was mostly Swaine and Oliver because let's face it, statistically, Esther is a drain on resources for most of that battle.**

 **Also, I just love writing these two like brothers. I think off screen, Swaine would be a very supportive and caring older brother to Oliver… When Esther and Drippy aren't watching.**

 **For some reason, the song "Broken Crown" wouldn't leave my head, so I made it the title. It fits slightly.** _ **Slightly.**_

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this.**


	26. Auld Lang Syne

Snow drifted softly from the sky, the clouds dark and grey. The air was crisp as various citizens kept the streets clear, some actively with shovels and others by simply running through them- most being small kids and teens.

The capital of the Northern Summerlands, Ding Dong Dell, was experiencing the first peaceful winter since the fall of both the Dark Djinn and the White Witch. Even the man partially responsible for its peace, who was passing through, seemed content with his freedom.

If only he had thought to bring his much thicker coat worn in Yule. If only he had thought to keep just enough spare change to afford a warm bed and a meal for one night.

Why else would he play such an ancient instrument? He found anonymity his companion, still, even with all of his efforts in saving this place and the rest of the world. Though, this time, he found it his bitter rival- if not, foe. Hardly anyone was paying attention to his playing. When they did pay attention, they dropped a guilder or two. At that rate, it wouldn't even matter. He'd just be sitting in the cold all night…

No one knew who he was. No one knew who he had been. No one even recognized him as one of the pure-hearted one's friends. He was a homeless pathetic vagrant yet again. He wasn't the picture of a hero.

He supposed that was for the best. He didn't help save the world for fame or recognition. He did so for his home, his brother… his father.

No, he really wished people would recognize him so he wouldn't freeze to death clutching his beloved mandolin as the closest thing to a friend he currently had.

It was a good thing he chose to play it under something, lest he'd be covered in snow as well.

So he stood there, strumming away with the case open out to the public for funds.

Alas, hardly a person was walking through the front part of the town. The Yule festival was happening.

He hoped he wouldn't die of hypothermia during the night. What a way to go out that would be. It was times like these he missed being able to rob people…

No. He shook his head. He made a promise to himself that he'd never go back to that. If he were going to survive his travels once more, he'd have to earn money through respectable means.

And he would suffer- according to his luck. He shrugged at the case. It wasn't the first time he slept outside in the cold.

As he was playing a song he had practiced quite a bit before in preparation for this exact day, barely holding anyone's attention, he spied a familiar mop of ginger hair walking on the other side of the street, feebly attempting to maintain his body heat with crossed arms across his chest. He picked up his playing, his sudden quick and rough strokes raising the volume. When the boy looked up from his morose gaze, he shouted. "Hey, kid! Over here!"

The child was wearing odd clothes, clothes from his world. He wore a cream shirt neatly stuffed into a pair of jeans. He seemed to look for the voice with a hint of desperation. He spied the man in the green trench coat and his face immediately brightened.

He ran towards him eagerly.

The former rogue stopped playing and quickly set his instrument down beside him. He knew what was about to happen. They hadn't seen each other in months since their victory.

A small set of arms belonging to a young but rather powerful wizard wrapped around the now thirty-five-year-old. He felt himself stumble back and he lifted his arms as he attempted to regain some of his balance. "Whoa," he grunted. "Easy, now."

He rubbed his face into the orange shirt under the jacket, overjoyed to have run into him on such short notice. He giggled when a hand rested on top of his head and ruffled his hair.

"What are you doing here," the musician playfully asked, looking down at the boy latched to his torso.

There was a muffled answer.

"Eh…," the thief queried. He tilted his head with a cupped ear. "I can't understand you, Oliver. Maybe you should try looking up when you speak?"

"But my face is cold," he said through the fabric. And the man he greeted was warm- despite his thin frame, that was.

"Well, who's fault is that?! You're the one who came here without a coat, aren't you?" He shook his head. "I'll give you my coat if you want...," he offered.

He thought of a question but didn't want to lift his head to expose his face to the elements. He squinted his eyes shut and quickly looked up. "Why don't we just go to a shop or something," he blurted out, pressing his face into the man's chest again.

"Well, a shop doesn't have steady foot traffic, now does it," he answered, rearing his neck back. He heard a confused grunt from the teen. "See, I'm trying to scrounge up some funds for a night's stay at an inn. I've been trying to be a little more…" He held out a hand to his right side, twirling it. "… _Honorable_ if you catch my meaning."

It seemed awfully peculiar to run into the man in Ding Dong Dell- it was so far from his hometown of Hamelin. "You didn't go home after all?"

At that, the former thief rubbed the back of his head. "Nah. Decided to take a once around the place before I finally settle back down." He let his arms fall to his side as he shrugged. "See what it's like when the world's at peace, you know?"

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced back down at his friend. "Now could you let me go? I need to get back to playing…"

Oliver sighed and finally released the man. He stood under the aunting next to him. He jumped when a green trench coat was placed on his shoulders. "Huh," he squeaked looking up. "Swaine? Don't you need this? I thought you hated the cold."

Swaine closed his eyes as he shivered from the brisk air. He shook his head. "I do, but I think you'll freeze worse than me just standing there." He lifted his instrument. "I'll keep my body moving while I play." He flashed a slightly discomforted smile. "I'll be fine." A tremor ran through him again. "It _is bleeding cold_ , though," he complained.

"Um… Alright…" He stood there and listened as the man begun to play a tune. He regretted not bringing his bag. He regretted not bringing any guilders. He looked out at the street. It seemed less busy than usual. Perhaps… they were celebrating the same day here, too.

 _"I'm sorry, dear. I'll be visiting family during the holidays,"_ Miss Leila had said. _"Would you like to come? There's always room at our table for one more."_ He recalled declining politely, saying he didn't want to intrude and said he'd ask Phil if he could join them.

 _"Eh… We're kind of not into that. Sorry, Ollie."_ He apparently had other plans. He said he'd ask Myrtle… but she had already gone out of town when he got to her house. He didn't know Denny well enough to ask…

He recalled sitting in his house, staring down at the rug in his living room. He remembered recalling his mother and him exchanging gifts, drinking hot cocoa, singing songs, and sitting near the fire as she read fairy tales to him with overexaggerated voices.

He was alone this year. His mother was gone. He had no other family… He would be all by himself and no one knew… And for some reason, that hurt.

In an effort to spend time with _anyone_ he traveled back to Ding Dong Dell. The man beside him playing his mandolin would never know how lonely he had felt just a few moments ago. Even in the cold, the comfort he felt of being next to another person during this time of year was something he cherished.

He pulled the shabby coat tighter. It was so full of holes it barely kept the chill out.

He remembered bringing his wand. He pulled it from his belt and looked at it. By now, he had pretty much memorized the most basic spells in the Wizards Companion…

He drew the symbol for Rejuvenate. The holes filled in. The coat protected him better from the frostbitten breeze a little better.

"What was that," Swaine asked Oliver.

"Umm….," he looked down, gripping the coat. "Your coat wasn't keeping out the cold. So I…" He shrugged. "…Fixed it?"

He raised an eyebrow at the jacket covered boy. He looked down at the object in question. So he had. Even the thin frayed patches that threatened new holes in the coat had become whole again. It looked like new to him. He replaced the lost look on his face with a gentle, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Swaine looked at the mandolin in thought. For a moment he considered it to repay the boy for his kind deed- even if it was out of a need to keep himself warm. He shook his head. Some other way perhaps...

A breeze swept through and he shivered, reminded of the very reason he was out there.

Oliver watched the people pass by. Very few would stop and put a coin or two in. Most would watch as they walked, listening to the man's music as they traveled.

They all seemed to be heading towards the main square in front of the palace, he noticed.

"Hey, Swaine," he asked the thief after another song was done.

"Hmm?" He turned his head back to look down at the teen.

"How come you don't just ask King Tom to stay at the palace…? You _are_ royalty," he pointedly suggested.

He scoffed. "I certainly don't look the part." He gestured to his worn outfit. "Besides, I don't like asking for favors from people that high up- not unless it's crucial."

"But… Your health is crucial," the boy argued. "And you helped save the world. Just… Ask nicely."

The thief chuckled. "Yeah, but you'd be surprised by the sheer amount of people who don't remember any of us exist." He sighed. "They just remember _you_ , Oliver." He held his hands away from his sides as he shook his head. "That's how history works. The generals are the ones with the name recognition. Memorials are made to remember the soldiers but the ones who lead…? They get all the credit," he lectured him, though with a halfhearted smile.

At Oliver's shocked, slightly saddened look- even with mouth agape- he grinned. "It's alright, kiddo. I don't blame you." He laughed. "We certainly didn't save the world for fame and glory, right?" He patted the boy on the shoulder before gripping the neck his mandolin again.

"It's not fair," he whispered as Swaine began to play once more.

He looked down at the case. "Why don't you go to the festival and play?"

The man stopped short. "I don't think they'd want to hear me… Not really." He shrugged. "I'm not nearly as good at this as I am at being a thief- not quite yet."

"You keep saying things like that about your music," the boy analyzed. "How do you know you're not?"

"I just do. It's horrible. Or at least it's horrible to me." He picked at the mandolin. "The notes don't always sound right…" He shook his head. "No matter how I tune it, they sometimes just don't work." He sighed. "I suppose I left it sitting for too long."

"I think it sounds fine." The boy looked back at the case with scattered coins- about twenty- in the case. "Apparently other people think so, too." Oliver tilted his head up to look at the dejected face of his friend. He wondered if talking to him about it further would even convince him.

He focused on the case. There was only one way to convince him.

He bolted towards the case and slammed it shut. He picked it up and held it over his head- it was a lot lighter without the instrument inside it.

"Hey," the man shouted, starting after him. "Oliver! What the hell?! Come back here with my case!" He had some trouble keeping up, balancing the instrument in his hand while running- it hampered his movement.

"Then play in the square, Swaine," Oliver shouted back over his shoulder.

"I _told_ you, I'm not any good!"

"I told _you_ that you sound fine," the boy threw back.

" _Oliver_ ," Swaine growled. "Get back here! Right now," he demanded. "This isn't funny!"

"That's odd," the boy began to retort. "I wasn't joking!"

They ran all the way to the square.

As the boy entered the center, he lowered his arms to look around. The buildings that surrounded them had streamers made of evergreen accompanied with red bows. In the center of the bows were small cat heads. There were small bells dangling from the bows themselves.

As the thief stumbled in, he noticed the people chatting, getting festive food only available at that time of year. So many of them were enjoying each other's' company. So many of them were arm and arm in a drunken stupor, warbling traditional tunes. So many of them played games at the stalls lining the streets for the simple fun of it, much of them were kids who also ran through the square with toys that had been bought by their parents from vendors, chasing one after another. What could be considered the Northern Summerland's version of the Yule Harvest Feast was in full swing.

The cat king stood at the front of the square, looking over all of his citizens partaking in the festivities. At once, he noticed the duo and moved forward, the crowd of people moving aside for him.

Seeing this, the boy's attention quickly turned to the ruler, letting the owner of the case take it back.

"Oh, what does one see before oneself?" He looked down at the two. "Oliver, the savior of the world, and…," his eyes fell on the musician. "Please excuse one's memory, but one does not believe to have ever been introduced to you properly."

The man scratched the back of his head, letting the instrument sag. "Oh… Uh…" He couldn't find the words. He had never been addressed directly by any ruler other than his own brother or father when he thought about it. "It's…" He looked down. "Gascon," he muttered under his breath.

"What's that? Gascon, you say," the cat king made out, leaning in with a paw near an ear.

The man cleared his throat. "That's right. I am…," he began, letting out a gruff sigh. "Prince Gascon… Though in this form you could just call me Swaine, you're Meowjesty."

"Swaine, I thought you-," Oliver started to say.

"He'll have to know anyway. After all, if I have to do anything for Marcassin, better get the whole introduction out of the way." He shrugged and swayed his head nonchalantly towards his friend.

"What a peculiar name for a peculiar hero…," the king noted. He spied the instrument hanging from the former thief's shoulders. "…With a peculiar instrument. Tell one, are you here to play for the festival," King Tom questioned him.

"Well- I wasn't- Are you asking me to-," Swaine stammered. He could feel a cold sweat go down his back at the very thought.

"Yes. He is, your Meowjesty," Oliver answered for him.

"Most excellent," the feline beamed.

Swaine froze, his eyes wide as he stared at his friend. Had he lost it?! He couldn't possibly put on a show to impress royalty! What the hell was this kid thinking?!

He had to think quickly. He couldn't just sing any random song, either. They had to be _Yule_ songs. Then he thought even more carefully about it. He could just play one- make a grand spectacle of it. Perhaps that would sate both of them.

"Ehehe. Yeah. Only one song, but it will be quite the festive one if you don't mind," he dodged.

"Only one," the young savior whined.

"I… never performed for such an esteemed audience, Oliver. One song should be all it takes." He winked at the cat king. "Isn't that right, your Meowjesty?"

"If that is what you believe will entertain the public."

Swaine nodded, smirking. "Well, then. Give us a moment to prepare our number, hmm?" He raised eyebrows at King Tom in a sly attempt at permission.

When the ruler of Ding Dong Dell allowed it, the musician drug his friend over to the side. "Oliver, are you mad," he harshly whispered. "I can't do this!"

"Sure you can! How hard can it be?"

"Pretty damn hard!" He flailed his arms over his head. "What if we mess up? We're playing for royalty, after all!"

At the distressed tone, the boy looked down. "S-sorry, Swaine…" He shook his head vigorously and then looked up in determination. "But there wasn't any other way I could think of to convince you! You're really talented!"

"Not _musically!_ I'm tone deaf, remember!" He bowed his head in defeat. He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't have a clue what we're going to do."

"You don't have any really energetic songs after all…?"

"Well, I actually have one… Just one." He smirked. "How about a practice session," he quipped as he readied his mandolin.

He gave his young friend the words, the melody, the rhythm. The song wasn't hard to pick up. It was about the celebration in general and enjoying the company with other people.

"Oh, and give me back my jacket, will you? I need it for flare."

"What? But Swaine… it's cold," Oliver protested.

"I'll give it back after the performance… Or…," he began to reason as an idea struck him. "We could just head to Al Mamoon and see Esther."

"Huh? But…"

Swaine tussled his friend's hair. "Come on, you didn't come here just to see me. Admit it." He laughed at this knowledge.

"I mean… I guess we could…" He supposed it was only fair. He _was_ just staying by the man's side to keep him company, really. Plus, it would get them out of the cold.

Oliver nodded and took the jacket off from around his shoulders. He handed it to the man wielding the string instrument. "Okay. It's a deal!"

When they walked back into the center, the cad winked at the cat king to wish good luck on their performance. It started with a loud strum of notes to get the crowd's attention. They stamped out the beat, the boy using the case for the thief's instrument as a drum and the wizarding tome the mallet.

They danced around each other, singing their song, performing their show. To the older man's joy, the crowd began to clap along to the tune. It brought quite the smile to his face.

In between choruses, Oliver would chant while remaining in tune, _"Time for friends, time for feast, time to prepare that roast beast,"_ then Swaine would continue with the verse, _"Time for fun, time for peace, time to carve that roast beast,"_ before continuing to the next chorus.

They repeated it again, though in unison, in the end, the thief had stopped playing the mandolin for the finale, bowing while keeping his head raised and a cheeky grin on his face. Oliver remained in the background, still keeping rhythm.

The crowd went wild with applause. They cheered at the unscheduled performance. At that, the two joined hands and bowed at the audience and their beloved king.

King Tom came forward once again, a smile on his feline lips. "Most excellent show! Surely one must ask, do you have more?"

"Sadly… no, your Meowjesty. Like I said, the rest are all slower, nonperformance pieces." The lanky man laughed sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. "If I'm allowed to be honest, this was all very last minute."

The cat king narrowed his eyes at the man in consideration. "Then it is that quick thinking one suspects you to have used in helping _the_ hero of this world save the world?" He bellowed a hearty laugh. "What an excellent mind!" He motioned with a paw towards the vendors and the people who were enjoying the festivities. "Will you be joining the festivities, Sir Gascon?"

Another nervous chuckle from the thief. "Sorry, but no, your Meowjesty…" He bowed slightly. He exchanged a glance with Oliver who nodded and smiled back at him. "We've friends to visit this holiday, you know?"

The large feline scratched his chin. "Ah, one acknowledges this. If it is obligations you must attend, then do not let one stop you." He nodded. "It has been a pleasure hearing you play, Prince Gascon. As a friend of Oliver, you are welcome to return to one's abode at any time."

Swaine's eyes widened at such a gesture. "You- You're serious?!" He leaned forward, his hand clenching his instrument tighter. When the cat king nodded in response, he took a deeper bow. "Much obliged, your grace," he gratefully returned. He stood tall, smiling up at the generous feline.

"Well, you have pressing matters, do you not? One will not hold you here much longer." He waved them away with a flick of his paw. "Make haste. Surely your friend should not be kept waiting."

The thief clapped his hands and rubbed them. "Right! Oliver?" He turned to the side to look back at his friend. "Shall we get going, then?"

The young mage nodded gleefully. "Let's go."

At that, the thief turned to make his leave.

"Your Meowjesty," Oliver called out before following the man. "Before we leave I just want to say… Thank you for letting Swaine play." He bowed his head. "He really needed it."

"On the contrary! It was one's pleasure," the cat king replied. He looked over the kid at Swaine standing at the plaza exit, waiting patiently for him to catch up. "Now go- he is waiting."

The boy giggled and ran after his friend.

"What took you?"

"I just needed to say bye to King Tom," Oliver answered when he got close.

"Right. Off to Al Mamoon, then?"

A laugh, then a pull of the wand, Mornstar. He cast Travel and they were whisked away to the sunny capital of the Southern Summerlands.

* * *

The thief took back the mandolin, putting it in its case for reasons not yet known to his young friend. He draped the case over his back and stood up straight as they faced the entrance.

Upon entering the city, the two were greeted with a peculiar sight. Men, women, and children were throwing colored powder and dyes at one another. They all seemed to giggle and laugh as their appearances were constantly changed with each wild fling of an arm. Even the buildings were stained lightly with the spray of colored dust- even the adventurer's facilities were brightly redecorated with various hues.

"Ah. I had a feeling that they were up to this, still," the man commented.

"Huh? What is it?"

"The way they celebrate the winter harvest…," he began to explain. "And also how they celebrate surviving another year." He chuckled and looked down at Oliver as they walked. "There's a lot more to it than that, but that's the gist."

"My clothes are getting pretty stained," the mage muttered, looking down. He thought it fortunate that he knew how to use Rejuvenate. He'd get in a lot of trouble if he returned home with bright dyes covering his clothes if Miss Leila were there.

"Yeah, we'll definitely need to fix that later-," the man began to say when he noticed a certain blond pigtail ahead of him. "Hey! Esther," he shouted through the crowd.

When she turned, she bore a face of utter confusion. That was quickly replaced with a large, bright smile. She ran up to them and wrapped her arms around both of them, spreading what powder covered her body onto the two boys.

When she let go, she looked at them both. "What are you two doing here?"

"Oh, you know… Just thought we'd drop by," Swaine nonchalantly said.

He winced when a cloud of pink powder hit his shoulder. "What the-," he started, connecting the shot with the pink covered hand of the familiar tamer.

"Oh! Sorry! I'm just really in the spirit of things, you know?"

"Yeah! It's a really neat way to spend the holiday!" Oliver looked around at the activity. "So why do you celebrate it like this?"

"Well originally," Esther began. "It was in hopes of bringing color back into the lives affected by Shadar, hoping that one day good would triumph over evil. That's why it's so colorful!" She giggled and held her hand to her chest. "But now that he's defeated, it celebrates that _and_ the babana harvest!"

"Neato," the boy exclaimed.

She giggled again before looking up at the thief. "Oh? You brought your mandolin?"

"Yeah," Swaine answered. "But with all this powder, it wouldn't be good for it if I played."

People singing and performing percussion instruments littered the streets as well, singing loud cheerful tunes. Others were shouting with glee as they decorated each other with paints. The noise of the crowd would drown him out. "I don't think people would hear my playing, anyway."

She bobbed her head in understanding. "I see. It wouldn't be good for my harp if I played it either."

"Yeah, you'd probably accidentally hurt someone with that thing." The thief rubbed the back of his head. He got elbowed in the chest for that one.

"Watch it, Swaine," she warned.

She turned to Oliver. "Hey, you want to go color people?"

The mage looked down at his already ruined clothes. He might as well. "Sure!" He looked up at the thief. "Do you want to join us?"

"Nah." Swaine shook his head in response. "I'll find somewhere quiet, don't you worry."

And so he did. Surprisingly, the Cat's Cradle plaza was devoid of the festive color throwing people. He found himself content with his mandolin there. He strummed a tune idly as he recovered from all the noise of the other festivities in the calm stillness of the inn plaza. He hummed softly to himself. He was covered head to toe with dyes and powder, he realized. He made the right choice keeping his beloved memento concealed upon entering.

It was nice, being away from the crowded streets, especially after that performance in Ding Dong Dell. Truthfully, he preferred to remain alone or at the very least, in a small group. He only used the crowds as cover or when he needed to blend in. Otherwise, it was just too much. The music comforted him.

Oliver laughed as he shielded himself from the dye his friend was throwing at him.

"So what are you two doing," the harpist shouted. Shielding herself from return fire.

"I don't know," he returned. "I guess we're just traveling around to see everyone today. You know to say hi and celebrate the holidays?" He rocketed a ball of bright pink paint at the blonde's arm.

"Ow! Hey," she snapped playfully as she pulled out a handful of mostly blue powder from the small bag at her hip. "And you're bringing Swaine along? Why?"

The boy shrugged, another handful of dye casually being held in his hand. "He seemed lonely…" He tossed it and looked down. Or was it because _he_ was lonely? He had no one to celebrate the new year with and neither did the thief. Esther had this tradition and her family and so did everyone else… But Swaine?

When he came back to their world- when he found the cad standing at the street corner playing the instrument. He seemed to have no one nor any home to go to. He had nobody- just an old mandolin and the memories of times long gone.

He lowered the powder he had readied to throw. "I don't know…," he said with a shrug. "He just seemed kind of… like he needed to get out of the cold- like he needed a friend."

They stood in silence as they let his explanation sink in.

Green powder showered over the ginger's head. He grunted in surprise.

"Try and catch me," Esther cheered as she ran up the street.

"Haha, you're on!"

They chased each other up to the Cawtermaster's store. "Hey, do you think they're open," he wondered, looking up at the completely re-colored store.

"They should be. They help supply the dyes, after all," Esther answered. She tilted her head curiously at the wizard. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, in my world, people exchange gifts to each other for the season. And I..." He shifted nervously. "I wanted to..." He shook his head and looked down at his feet. "No, never mind."

He felt a hand grab his right shoulder lightly. He looked up at the harpist. "That sounds nice, Oliver." She smiled lightly at him. "Why don't we get something for the people your visiting?"

"Are you sure? I mean, it's not your tradition and... I don't have any money," he admitted hesitantly.

"I can at least help you get something for Swaine." She shrugged. "I think Mr. Drippy will just be glad you visited," she joked as she rolled her eyes. "But we'll get something for him, too."

"What about you? What about Marcassin? "

"Your present to me is letting me help. Nothing feels better than helping someone to me, Oliver." She giggled. "And Marcassin's can be you bringing his hopeless big brother back home!"

"O-okay," he stammered. He nodded with renewed confidence. "Yeah! Sure!"

When they entered the store, they both had to stifle a laugh. The Cawtermaster himself seemed covered with a rainbow of colors. Even his beak was painted. Surprisingly, the rest of the store remained untouched.

"You seem awfully _colorful_ , today, Mr. Cawtermaster," Esther teased. "What happened?"

He cawed raising his wings before answering her. "I was cawt off guard when I opened shop! Ambushed I was! My feathers got cawvered ravenously by a bunch of birdbrained passersby! The shop got completely vandalized!" He tilted his head and blinked at the girl.

Her smile dropped. "I'm so sorry that happened! Are you going to be okay?"

"Not to worry! I was merely cawt off-guard." The birdman tilted his head to the other side. "I'm such a pretty bird, now! And so is my shop!" She swore she saw a smile at the corners of the shop keeper's beak. "Caws of this, my shop will be more noticeable as the day goes on!"

"Oh… Okay," Oliver answered. "That's good." He gave a short laugh.

"So… do you have anything that would make good gifts," the mage finally asked after looking from side to side.

"I'm Cawtermaster, not a Hootenanny," he chirped. "Unless you're looking for weapons and weapons supplies, you're roosting in the wrong tree!"

"Weapons supplies," the girl parroted. "Like polish? Do you have any all-purpose polish?"

The boy turned to his friend. "You mean for Swaine…?"

"Yeah! I think he could use it, don't you, Oliver?"

"Of caws I have all-purpose polish," the bird interrupted. He crouched for a moment and lifted a bottle. "Anything else?"

"Umm… Slapsticks," Oliver asked, pointing at the torso of the bird.

"Ah…" The bird jerked his head to the other side and straightened up again. "No, I don't believe I know what you're squawking about."

"They're these flat sticks. Kind of like small boards," the boy described, opening his hand towards the shopkeep.

The bird made a low chirping noise. He excused himself to look in his supplies. He returned with two small boards. "These were leftover pieces of wood from armor. They should do?"

Oliver inspected them. They were flat enough- even if they didn't seem like the traditional stick the fairy preferred.

"Yeah. Thanks!"

"How much," Esther asked as she stepped forward. "For both of them?"

"Take them. In light of the holidays, consider it a token of flightful gratitude."

The blonde's eyes widened. She slowly smiled at the shopkeep. "Thank you," she cheered as she grabbed the items from the counter.

"Cawme again," he crowed after the two.

When they returned to the entrance, they listened for the sound of a mandolin. It was difficult to pin down through the din.

"Where do you suppose he went," Esther wondered, looking around.

"Somewhere quiet." The boy looked for the calmest area in their vicinity.

When they found that the plaza in front of the inn was fairly docile, they exchanged nods and approached.

As they entered the somewhat still plaza, the soft chords of a mandolin being played greeted them both. They entered to see the thief playing.

"Ah. You're back! I was beginning to worry," he said almost to the tune of the instrument. "You two have fun?"

The boy bounded forward as he cheered, "Oh, yeah!" But once he got closer, he looked down. "Um…,"

At this sudden hesitation, the thief's nonchalant smirk fell right along with his playing. He pulled himself from the wall. "What is it?"

"Er… We got something for you," the boy began. He pulled a small bottle of polish from his pocket. "Swaine, um… Thank you." He handed the bottle over to the thief.

He looked down at the bottle before reaching to accept it. It had been a long time since anyone had given him anything for a special occasion. He took it and proceeded to open it. He smiled softly at the oily substance inside and then back at the two kids. He closed the lid.

He bent down and roped them both into a hug, of which they were both caught off guard. "Thank you- both of you."

"Um= okay. Sure, Swaine," the boy stammered.

The girl looked over at the man's head. "Are… You okay?"

"I'm fantastic!" He pulled away, beaming at the two of them. "This is exactly what I needed!"

The two exchanged pleased glances. "Really," they both shouted.

He released them and smirked. "Yeah. Lucy was looking a little dull and my gun _could_ use a little grease." He tossed the bottle between his hands playfully. He looked at the two teens. Leave it to them to think of such useful gifts. "This'll certainly come in handy."

Esther tilted her head with a small smile. "Well, we're glad you liked it."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed.

The girl backed away. "Well, I suppose you two will be leaving soon?"

"Oh, yeah! I still have to give Mr. Drippy a gift!"

The thief rolled his eyes but maintained a cheerful grin. "Yes. Sure. Let's go see his Fairy Lordship," he snidely commented.

"Oh, would you be quiet- you know you missed him, too," the harpist jabbed. "It's only fair that you guys go see him."

"You're not coming, Esther," the mage asked, eyeing her.

She shook her head. "No. I've got other plans with my family," she answered. She waved at them both. "See you two later! Say, 'hi' to everyone for me, okay?"

The savior giggled. "Sure."

The next place of venue was the Fairygrounds. Swaine wasn't looking forward to it. Then again… he supposed he could stand to hear some comedy. A good laugh never hurt anyone.

When they magically appeared in front of the Fairygrounds entrance, their ears were greeted with laughter- more laughter than usual when they had previously visited the area. They entered to find most of its inhabitants missing from the front- or more, surrounding the Cavity Club stage.

They approached the heart of the fairy homeland. Three fairies stood on the stage- Drippy, and the other two most known comedians of the island. Their act seemed to be a three-man act involving literal slapstick comedy. It was quite interesting to see- one would say something as a comeback, but the other would correct them but not before hitting whoever it was with a slapstick. The act ended with Drippy smacking both of them in the back of the head, shouting, "Lay off, mun!"

That sent the fairies into a roar of laughter, especially when the other two fell over comedically. Even the thief and the wizard were not immune to the humor.

It seemed they had come right before an intermission. The fairies dispersed momentarily. Some went to the shops to open up for brief concessions. The two fairies got up and jumped off the stage to discuss an upcoming act. Drippy, however, walked off to the side to squint at the crowd.

"Hey! Don't pretend you can't see us! We're the largest ones here," the thief jested.

"Youer sure? Cause I don't see you, thief-face!"

"You must be going blind in your old age, _your lordship_ ," he tossed back. They stood in front of the stage.

"Ta, mun! I can see as clear as ever! Youer just easy to miss with all that green!"

The thief and the mage exchanged glances before looking back at the fairy. "Mr. Drippy, I'm standing right next to him! Can you see me?"

The fairy waived it away. "Of course, I can, Ollie-boy! I was just joking around!" He slapped the leg of the teen. "So what brings you by here, bunting? Missed ol' Mr. Drippy, did ya?" He did a pose as if he were about to fight. "Your best friend- your sidekick?"

"I just came here to spend time with people for the holidays." He looked up at the thief. "I just ran into Swaine first and we've been going around seeing our friends!"

"Yeah, sure beats playing a mandolin while your fingers freeze off in the cold," the man responded. He was starting to finally put his instrument away.

The fairy caught the slight glimmer of the mandolin. "This next act could use a musical touch! There's useful!"

The man continued to stare at his case. As soon he realized it his comment was directed at him, he stepped back in shock. He looked down at the fairy in slight bewilderment. "Huh- What? Me?!" He shook his head, throwing his hands up. "You can't be serious!"

"You can be my partner even!" He held up a tiny hand. "That will make the next round flow even better if I just have you, eh? There's tidy."

He faltered. He frowned. "Umm. Sorry…," He gritted his teeth as he looked around and scratched his head. "What the hell is this all for, again? And-!" He squinted his eyes shut and grimaced. "Why me?! I'm not a comedian- far from it!"

"Could have fooled me! All those jokes you made during our journey? You were always trying to squeeze a laugh out o' everyone! Ta, mun!" He waved his tiny fairy hand down for emphasis.

The thief began to sweat nervously. He bit the bottom of his lip. "That- that? It was just… er… keeping things from getting touchy- lightening the mood, yeah?" He gripped the head of the mandolin tightly- he had frozen in place at the mere mention of performing on stage. He shook his head again. "And you didn't answer my question, you bizarre gnome!"

"Aye- I didn't, did I. There's careless." He shook his tiny head before looking back up at the pair. "See we have a big ol' laughing bonanza for all of fairy kind every year. We do it to keep the cheer in the bleakest times, see? Mam's a big believer in the ol' keeping a cheerful demeanor through tough times. Helps get through 'em, she says!" He nodded, the lantern jangling with the motion. "Now we do it to celebrate Ollie-boy here!" He pointed at the young wizard. "We laugh to celebrate laughing in the face of ol' Shadar! Even the littlies join in a couple o' times!"

"So that's what's going on," the boy chimed in, smiling down at the fairy. "Then you'll be needing this, right, Mr. Drippy?" He pulled out his gift and handed it to him.

He looked at it with wide eyes. His largemouth hung open in awe at the sight of them. They seemed to be made out of solid oak. "By-the-by-! Where'd you get such premium slapsticks, Ollie-boy?!"

"I got them in Al Mamoon from the Cawtermaster's," Oliver answered, keeping his hand outstretched.

Drippy picked up the pair of sticks. He slapped them together and then into his tiny palm. He closed his eyes and nodded, the lantern jangling and shaking at the end of his nose. He opened his eyes. "Jus' what the next act needed!" He looked over to Swaine. "Well- it'll be startin' soon! Places!" He waved towards the stage.

The thief raised his hand in hesitation. "Uh- Wait- I never said-!"

"Oi! Don't be shy, mun! A little jokin' never hurt ya! It'll be fun," the fairy encouraged.

"But… How do I put this-," he struggled to explain. "I don't _get_ fairy humor. I think it's hilarious, it's just I don't know how you approach your jokes and all…" He looked away from the stage. "I'm not sure this will work."

The fairy looked dumbfounded at the taller man. " _'Don't get fairy humor'_ he says," he finally blurted. He stepped back in front of them and pointed a tiny yellow finger at the cad. "Listen here, fairy humor is just like any humor- where do you think most humor comes from-, or I ain't Lord High Lord o' the Fairies! And even if it wasn't-!" He snapped his tiny hand while swinging it across his upper body. "It would make the jokes even better!" He stamped a tiny blue foot towards the man who leaned back. "Now are you going to help ol' Drippy out or not, Swainey-boy?"

He was a loss for words. He had just been lectured by Drippy… The least threatening of anything he had faced in all of their journeys- and he still somehow felt intimidated by him. He cringed at the name he had just used, too… _Swainey-boy… What the hell…?_ He recalled repeating in his head. He looked down at Oliver to find the boy looking up at him expectantly.

He finally let out a defeated sigh, stealing a side glance with his eyes at the stage. "Fine… I suppose it would be fun to see what happens."

"Right-o," Drippy cheered, jumping up from his place. "There's lovely!"

And so they began the next act. Oliver sat in the audience while Swaine sat on the edge of the stage, the case for his instrument leaning against the side of the structure. The thief braced the mandolin against his knee as he watched the crowd begin to reappear around the Cavity Club.

It started with Drippy introducing the newcomer to the act. In response to it, the thief strummed the mandolin and gave a short wave.

"So what will we do," the thief questioned the fairy.

The fairy shrugged. "Well improv, I suppose!"

The mandolin let out a sharp yelp. Swaine jerked his head to the side. "What?! You mean to say you don't know what we're going to be joking about?" He rolled his eyes. "There's a laugh!"

"Oi, and a proper one, too!" The fairy jabbed the thief lightly on the side. The audience seemed to chuckle.

The thief shook his head again. "Seriously, what are we doing?"

"This," Drippy claimed, exaggeratedly stretched out his arms towards the crowd, looking up at the man.

"What now?"

"Now what," the fairy returned.

"I don't know."

"Well, you ought to know."

"Hey, hey, hey," Swaine began, strumming a sharp note with each "hey". "Who's the comedian here, Drippy?"

"Who?"

"Yeah. Who?"

"I don't know a bloke by that name. Is he any good?"

Swaine raised an eyebrow. Silence prevailed "That wasn't even funny!"

The audience laughed at the rebuttal.

"Fine, fine," Drippy resigned. "How 'bout this! We tell about our feats!" He waved towards Swaine who continued to observe him. "I'll start." He cleared his throat. "There we were, surrounded by several large ravenous beasties… Everyone was on their last flippin' leg. Then I jumped in and took 'em all on! I-"

" _Time the hell out_ ," the man snapped, letting another sharp squeal from the mandolin into the air. "That never happened!"

"Youer sure?"

"I would have _been there_!"

"Fine, youer right… But what about the time I tamed tha-"

"That was _Esther_!"

"Or the time I punched the beast in the no-"

"My Papa Sasquash could punch better-," He began to insult, rolling his eyes. He stopped short when he felt a pair of slapsticks smack him on the arm. "Hey!"

"And he could take 'em better, too!"

" _Hey!_ "

The crowd began to laugh at them both. The thief smirked. So it was light-hearted jeering they wanted, he presumed.

"So, Drippy," he began.

"Oi, what is it, mate?"

He started to strum a calm tune. "I was thinking of installing a light fixture in my home…"

"Oi! You have a home?"

Swaine nodded. "Yeah. I need your help with something."

"Hold on, I got ye!" The fairy crouched. "You need me to light up the place, like?"

The thief scoffed. "You'd be too tacky!"

"Tacky?"

"No, on second thought," the thief corrected himself, interrupting his strumming with a strangled note. "You'd barely stick to the ceiling."

"Good, cause I don't think I could hang about," the fairy added.

The crowd roared with laughter. They continued this banter of jokes, some failing, some hilarious.

All that mattered to the man was seeing a smile on the young wizard's face. He had looked so gloomy in Ding Dong Dell. It wasn't until he saw him laughing happily did he realize how much _he_ needed this little journey, too. He missed this- experiencing the world with a friend by his side- especially after months of walking alone.

The act ended and they both bowed at the audience. It was time for yet another intermission.

"Thank you for helpin' ol' Drippy out," the fairy said. "Rough start, but I think I even heard me mam laugh." He lightly patted the thief on the arm.

Swaine was finally putting away his mandolin. "Oh, yeah. No problem."

Oliver approached. "You were really good, Swaine!" He turned to the fairy. "So were you, Mr. Drippy!"

The fairy waved it away with his arm. "Ah, it was nothing. Not even my best act, to tell ya the truth."

"Yeah…," the man groaned with the back of his head. "Sorry for dragging you under."

The fairy shook his head. "Youer fine, Swaine. You aren't a professional comedian and I won't hold ya to it." He grinned. "And that mandolin of yours really lightened the mood, like!"

The man nodded. "So it did."

"Are ya stayin' for another go?"

The mage shook his head. "No. Sorry, Mr. Drippy."

Swaine turned to the boy with raised eyebrows. "Are you certain? We could stay if you wanted."

Oliver shook his head. "Yeah. I'd love to, but there's just one last place we have to go."

The fairy shifted and hung his head sadly to the side. "I see, Ollie-boy. Got a more important goal in mind, do ya?"

"Yeah! What _are_ you playing at," the thief asked as he turned to look incredulously at his young friend. "Why the ruse?"

The boy smiled up at his friend. "It's a surprise!"

The thief placed both hands on his hips. "For who?"

"For you, Swaine," Oliver answered.

The man and the fairy exchanged confused glances at each other.

"Don't look at me, mun- I haven't a clue." Drippy shrugged as he said this.

When they were transported to their next location, a sense of dreadful familiarity hit the thief. The ground was hard, the smell of smoke and ash from nearby vents wafted over them, and a giant structure of the entrance leading down to the capital of a machine empire loomed over them.

"H-Hamelin?!" He looked down at Oliver with mild disdain. "Why?"

The boy shifted nervously. "I thought… y'know, since it's the holidays…"

His look softened when he realized the kid's true intention. "I see, Oliver." He patted the boy's shoulder as he walked past him. "Come on. Let's go say hello, hmm?"

When they walked in, they noticed everything was… different. There were red bows on the doors where the handles would be. Lamps were decorated with pig-themed banners and connected with gold and green streamers. The main road was open as if prepared for a procession.

Only, one thing was off. There were people walking with foil covered containers- also wrapped in bows. Most of them seemed to be coming from the palace entrance.

They had stopped short at the side of it- the former eldest prince of Hamelin having halted at what he saw. "He's not…," the man gasped at the sight, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips.

The boy, hearing his friend's excitement in his tone, looked up in wonder. "What is it, Swaine?"

The man chuckled. "Something special… Something…" He raised a hand and shook it as he gathered his thoughts, his fingers curled in towards his palm. "That this kingdom hasn't seen since _he_ reigned." He glanced at Oliver. " _He_ , despite everything… Despite Shadar, despite _me_ , was very keen on this celebration…" He smiled knowingly, warmly. "Even if the Royal Procession was our most cherished event, _this_ was always one of the ones _he_ was sure to do…" He started walking again, keeping that hand at nearly chest height.

When they got to the palace entrance, they saw it: tables of food- three rows of it. Most of it was meat, but there were also bread and cooked vegetables. Palace guards and servants were packing away meals among the rows and in the very front the Great Sage himself was handing them out to the people that came by.

"Marcassin," the young mage asked as they approached. "What is all this?"

The ruler looked up and put the food back on the table to address him. "Oliver! I was not expecting you!" He bobbed his head in greeting. "Forgive me."

He looked at the tables and handed the next meal to another person who needed it. "This is the yearly Hamelin Yule feast where we take everything in the palace larder and then some and feed it to those who need it. It's a means of celebration for those who have made it through the toughest parts of the year-."

He finally noticed the man behind him. "G-Gascon," he gasped. He walked around Oliver to meet with his brother.

Swaine followed the sage's movement. "Hey…" He smiled at his younger brother. "I guess… I came back for the holidays after all…"

Marcassin looked into the eyes of his brother. He wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders. "Welcome back," he whispered into his ear before letting go. He laughed nervously. "I _knew_ there was someone missing from this event. I just couldn't place it."

The sage looked over at the boy. "Thank you, Oliver, for bringing him home."

The hero smiled gratefully at the ruler. "It was nothing, your majesty."

"Yeah, it's good to be home, your _grace_ ," the man jabbed, snidely smirking at the younger prince.

Marcassin rolled his eyes at that. "You _know_ what to call me. Such formalities are unnecessary to equals such as yourselves." He cast a slightly disapproving look at his brother's tone. "Especially my _elder_ brother disguised as a vagrant."

"What," Swaine exclaimed. "For your highness's information, I _am_ a nomad, thank you! That's all I ever have been."

Another eye roll. He turned to the man once more. "My brother, you are still!" He took the man's hands in his. He squeezed once. _I love you, Gascon._ Was what he meant by this action… It was something he had remembered his older brother doing when they were alone as children. "It doesn't matter what you call yourself, you cannot change your own blood." He squeezed his hands again. _You and your secrets are safe with me._

"I'm just here to humor you, you know…," he dodged.

There was a chuckle. "Even so, you came back just in time to ring in the new year!" He leaned forward with a proud and delighted grin. "And so I welcome you home, Gascon- aid to the hero of the world." He squeezed a third time. "And dear brother."

"All I did was help. Oliver's the true hero," he fussed, looking over at the boy in question. "As great a thief as I am I don't deserve much praise."

Oliver shook his head. "I couldn't have done it without any of you," he corrected.

The sage sighed. "You, at the least, deserve the praise of surviving- living to see this day- and accomplishing all that you have! Just…" He started handing out food again. "Take it, will you, Gascon?"

The man looked down at his hands. "So… What does this mean, then?"

"What do you believe it means," the boy chimed in with a concerned look at Swaine.

Swaine sighed and looked up. "Please don't make me say it… It's a cliché."

The two stared at him expectantly.

"You're really going to do this, huh?" He sighed and shook his head with a wry smile. "'I'll always have a place here, won't I?' Happy?" He crossed his arms and leaned towards both of them. "Well, here's a bargain I want to make on that: if I'm always welcomed to come back here- as a prince and all according to you," he began to stipulate, gesturing to Marcassin. "Then Oliver is welcome to come here whenever he's feeling down on his luck, too!"

The sage scoffed as he passed out another plate of food to another person. "As if that was even a question, Gascon!"

The boy shook his head, raising his hands to stay them. "No, no, no! I can't do that! I- I really shouldn't make you guys worry about me-!"

"Too late, kiddo, you had me worried since the day I joined you on your journey," the thief indicated with a pat on the kid's head. "And since you appeared in Ding Dong Dell looking all cold, miserable, and lonely!"

"Y-you saw that…," Oliver stammered in shock. "I didn't mean to-!"

"Oh, just stop it, Oliver. You're a kid, still, remember? You're allowed to have emotions," the former cad reminded him. "You really did look awful back there!"

"Is that so," the sage queried with a raised eyebrow. He put both hands on his hips and eyed the boy with a raised eyebrow. "Do you not have lodging for the night, then?"

The boy shook his head. "I could… just go home."

"Do you have anyone at home to go home to," Marcassin questioned.

The boy pieced his thoughts together. He shook his head slowly. "No… I don't."

"Then I refuse to allow you to return with no one there to comfort you on this otherwise festive night!" The sage placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "While I do not doubt your strength, you should not be alone in this way." He glanced at his brother. "This offer extends to you as well."

Oliver smiled softly down at the floor. "Thank you, Marcassin."

The sage waved a couple of servants over and had them taken to a guest room. He bid them goodnight and watched as they entered the palace. When Gascon cast him a warm and grateful smile, he returned in kind, acknowledging their gratitude.

As they walked, the boy leaned on the thief drowsily- the day was at its end. They were both slightly exhausted. "Swaine," he yawned. "Sorry for dragging you everywhere, today. I know you didn't ask for it."

"No… It was fun, really," the thief responded. "I liked seeing everyone again."

"Really?" The kid stole a glance at the man. "So did I." They walked a little longer in silence.

"Swaine?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're not lonely anymore."

The thief smiled as he adjusted his mandolin, thinking at the dejected face the kid had earlier that day. "Me too, kiddo. Me too."

Finally, the holiday was at an end. The new year would begin the next day along with new beginnings.

~.~.~

 **This took me way longer than I thought it was going to take to get out. Happy holidays and belated New Year's everyone!**

 **The song at the beginning may be partially inspired by Hunchback of Notre Dame (the Disney one), the title is... well... it's the song you hear sung every new year and looking at the lyrics it fits this drabble pretty well. The celebration in Al Mamoon is loosely based on Holi which is a Thanksgiving/good vs evil deal. From what I understand it also has some ties to Hinduism, but other people outside of that faith often take part in it. That whole hand squeezing thing is based on a post I saw on Tumblr about a person reminiscing about their dad and how they grew up secure because of it. I thought, "Hey! That's a good idea! Marcassin, despite previous Heartbreak, seems pretty secure. Maybe Gascon did something like that when they were kids.**

 **And, by the by, Auld Lang Syne, if you can understand it in whatever form you choose, be it mostly with American/standard English inflections or Scottish dialect, is a beautiful song. I say it fits very well with this game _because_ of the roots it has as well as the meaning behind it. Take a listen, when you get the chance, outside of the holiday season to it. It wasn't until I heard it more clearly at my store that I realized how much it could easily fit into other times of the year. **


	27. Run

Run.

Run from your family and your homeland young prince.

Run-

From the reality they failed to convince.

Run.

And let your feet stamp the earth.

Join pirates and let your dreams fly free with great mirth.

Run,

Through the streets as you take freely, your smile so smug.

Run!

Run in fear, for you've crossed every villain and thug.

Run-

As your heart races and aches.

It reminds you that you do not know the true stakes.

Run-

For your father is dead.

Run,

Far from the reality- too strong for your head.

Run-

Now that the nightmare's awoken.

Your heart still beats, though it's broken.

Run.

Run with an item in your hands.

Run-

Aimlessly for you've forgotten grander plans.

Run.

Though it is far too late, you feel you must not be spotted.

Nothing- no one- can halt the deeds you have plotted.

Run!

Far from the demons in your skull.

Run-

From the dark clouds that threaten your consciousness to lull!

Run,

Before you fall into the abyss for which you once bled.

Lest let strangers fight the beast in your stead.

Run!

With newfound vigor and hope.

Run,

So, you may teach your new companions the ropes

Run.

Run so they may live to fight another day.

Or face danger for them- by their side you must stay.

Run-

Run headlong into every fray to protect those few.

Run,

To guard the ones who have saved you.

Run!

To save your brother and your kingdom.

To be redeemed as your father's first-born son.

Run…

From the death that spawned all that anger and sadness.

Run…

From those emotions you thought long passed.

Run-

To avenge your family and your home.

So, they may not save the world on their own.

Run,

So, they may collect all the pieces

Run!

Go quickly so that life never ceases!

Run-

To your fate now that it is all complete.

Or, when the time comes, will you lay down in defeat?

Run-

And fight for backing down is not your way.

Run,

And face what come may.

Run,

As you face one foe before humanity's true threat,

But even as you press on, you're filled with ominous dread.

Run,

To your friend who now lay limp on the ground.

Run-

After you pick him up, your terrified heard beginning to pound.

Run!

Move fast through the poisonous swamp, friends following and one on your back.

Be on guard as you realize the security you now lack.

Run,

From the beasts that loom.

Run,

For this predicament may spell the world's doom.

Run.

Should you do so? Since you've no way to mend?

After the damage you have caused… Is this really the end?


End file.
